


Back In Time For Trouble

by Ytteb



Series: Back In Time [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Adventure, Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: An AU version of some of the NCIS characters ... although set before NCIS existed. Gibbs and McGee travel to London for a case and meet ... well, some familiar faces in unfamiliar settings.





	1. Chapter 1

London 1928

“Move it, McGee!” said Jethro Gibbs as he jumped out of the taxi.

Timothy McGee sighed and wondered how often he had sighed since first meeting Jethro Gibbs.  He reached into his pocket and drew out the money for the fare.  “Thank you,” he said to the driver.

“You got a right one there, Mister,” said the driver.  “Good luck!” and he touched the brim of his cap in farewell.

“Don’t I know it,” sighed McGee … again.

“McGee!” shouted Gibbs.

“Coming, Boss,” said McGee as he picked up his bags and followed Gibbs.

“Gibbs,” said Gibbs as he marched up to the reception desk of New Scotland Yard, “Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”

“Pardon?” came the reply.

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  From Washington.”

“Oh.  You’re American.  Explains it.”

“Er, explains what?” asked McGee.

“Why I didn’t understand what you were saying,” said the policeman affably.

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” enunciated Gibbs very slowly.  “Here to see Deputy Commissioner Walter James.”

The constable wrote the name down equally slowly.  “And who might you be?” he asked McGee.

“Timothy McGee.  Also to see the Deputy Commissioner.  If that’s all right?”

“Not for me to say, Son,” said the policeman.  “Now, let me see,” and he looked at a list in front of him.  He read it through very carefully and then huffed before reading it again.  He looked up at the visitors before looking at another list.  “Not today,” he said at last, “You’re not expected until tomorrow.”

“We made good time,” said Gibbs.

McGee found himself considering the varying definitions of _good time_.  He suspected that to Gibbs a good time was simply a _quick_ time whereas McGee would want the _implications_ of a quick time to be taken into account.  McGee wasn’t sure that his rapid heartbeat, elevated blood pressure and increased nervous tension would lead to _him_ endorsing Gibbs’ description.

“Hmm,” said the policeman as he gazed stolidly at Gibbs.

“Um, why don’t you check to see if he can see us today … um … now,” suggested McGee tentatively.

“He’s a busy man,” said the policeman.  “Being the Deputy Commissioner and all.”

“I’m sure,” said McGee.  “But if you could …”  He made a slight gesture of the head towards Gibbs, hoping that the policeman would see the advantage of accommodating them.

A grin split the policeman’s face as he appreciated McGee’s position.  “I’ll check,” he agreed.  “Wait here.”  He levered himself off his stool and called out, “Sidney, take over from me.  I’m off to see the DC.  Keep an eye on our visitors.  They’re American.”  There was a wealth of meaning in the word _American_ but McGee was weary and didn’t feel up to unpacking what the meaning was.

Gibbs nodded briskly and moved away to examine some posters listing wanted criminals.  McGee went and sat down on one of the wooden benches and surreptitiously did some deep breathing exercises.

“McGee!” snapped Gibbs.

McGee realised that his deep breathing had led to him dozing off and he jerked back to attention.  He opened his eyes to see the policeman looking down on him paternally,

“The Deputy Commissioner will see you now,” he said benignly.  “Walk this way.” 

McGee found himself wanting to giggle; the policeman had a rolling gait which it would be hard to imitate although he found he had an insane wish to do so.  Awareness of Gibbs’ stern eye fixed on him prevented him from following through and he settled for picking up his luggage and joining the procession.

“The Americans,” announced the escort when they arrived at a door outside which a female secretary sat.

“Thank you, Constable Jenks,” said the woman. 

“I told them they was early, Miss Ames,” said PC Jenks.

“Thank you,” said Miss Ames.

“And that the Deputy Commissioner is a busy man,” said Jenks.

“Thank you,” said the secretary.

“They said as they’d made good time,” said Jenks.

“Thank you.”

“Although the young’un looks as if he needs his bed.”

“I’ll take it from here,” said Miss Ames sternly.

“Fair enough,” said Jenks.  He nodded towards McGee and Gibbs.  “They’re American,” he added confidentially.

“I’m well aware of that, PC Jenks.”

PC Jenks realised he had nothing else to say so grinned at McGee and directed a cool look towards Gibbs before rolling away again.

Gibbs stared at Miss Ames, “Gibbs.  Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Timothy McGee.”

Miss Ames stared back, “The Deputy Commissioner …”

“Is a busy man,” said Gibbs, “I know.”

“Good,” said Miss Ames, “I was about to say, the Deputy Commissioner will see you directly.  I will let him know you are here.”  She got up from her chair, paused at the door to look at them once more as if to check that they were not going to make a rush for the office, and then tapped on the door before entering.  “The Americans,” they heard her say.  She emerged a moment or two later and announced, “Please come in.”

“About time,” muttered Gibbs.  “Come on, McGee!”

Miss Ames directed a sympathetic look at McGee who hadn’t hesitated for even half a second.

“Ah, Gibbs, McGee,” said Deputy Commissioner Walter James.  “Do come in.  Would you like some tea?  Do you drink tea?” he added doubtfully.

A cup of tea sounded like bliss to McGee but, although he had not known Gibbs for long, he knew enough to decline.

“Let’s get down to business,” said Gibbs.  He paused and then added, “Sir.”

“So,” said James, “You’ve come a long way.”

McGee felt the urge to giggle again but managed to suppress it once more.  “Yes, Sir.  3419 miles … from New York to Southampton.  And then I think it’s about 80 miles from there to here.”

“Indeed,” said the Deputy Commissioner politely.  “And how was the journey?  I believe you travelled on the RMS Aquitania?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Ah.  I travelled on her sister ship the Mauretania last summer,” said James nostalgically.  “Did you have a good passage?”

McGee thought about relating how he had been seasick for the entire journey; of describing how Gibbs had spent so much time on the bridge urging the captain to go for a new Atlantic crossing record and of how he was considering applying for British citizenship so he didn’t have to face the voyage back but somehow he didn’t think he would be heard out and settled for saying, “It was fine, Sir.  Thank you.”

Gibbs coughed and the sound seemed to pull James back to reality.  “And it’s excellent to see you here,” he said.  “It’s always good to offer co-operation to our American …” he hesitated as he searched for the appropriate word, “… friends.”  He paused, apparently waiting for some polite rejoinder from his guests.  He didn’t pause for long; as PC Jenks had observed, he was a busy man and didn’t have time to waste.  “Your credentials, if you please,” he asked.

Gibbs took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to the Deputy Commissioner.

“We need to be sure,” said James apologetically.  “Although it seems unlikely that you are imposters.”  He scanned the papers quickly and returned them, “That all seems in order.  Now, _Gunnery Sergeant_ Gibbs, perhaps you can explain how the Metropolitan Police can help the Office of Naval Intelligence?”

“Navy Intelligence suspects that attempts have been made to steal the plans of the US Navy’s new class of submarines,” said Gibbs.

“By whom?”

“Unknown,” said Gibbs.  “Possibly by foreign powers or possibly by criminals intent on selling the details to the highest bidder.”

“And why do you need our help?”

“We don’t,” said Gibbs.

“I don’t understand,” said James.

“We have a suspect, Alexander Lambert, who we believe was working in the Portsmouth Shipyard.  We were closing in on him when he escaped.  We believe he has made his way to this country.  I am here to arrest him,” said Gibbs.

“Why do you think he has come here?” asked James.

“Previous history,” said Gibbs.

“I see,” said the Deputy Commissioner.  “So, you don’t need our help?”

“No, Sir,” said Gibbs.

“And yet,” smiled James, “You are here.”

“Our Director believes we need your help,” admitted Gibbs.  “In the interests of co-operation.”

“I agree with your Director,” said James firmly.  He picked up the phone on his desk, “Miss Ames, would you ask PD to come here, please?  Thank you.”

There was a tap on the door and Miss Ames entered bearing a tray of tea things, “PD will be down directly, Sir.  I thought you might be wanting tea?”  Without waiting for a response, she poured out three cups and offered them to the three men.  Gibbs shook his head but McGee reached out his hands eagerly.  Miss Ames smiled benevolently at him, “And would you care for a biscuit … oh, I believe you call them _cookies_?”  McGee didn’t care what they were called, it seemed a long time since a snatched breakfast at Southampton and he was happy to accept.

“Ah, tea,” came a new voice.  “Connie wasn’t at her desk, so I thought I’d come straight in.”

“Come in, PD,” said James, “I want you to meet our American … colleagues.  Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs didn’t want his tea so there’s a spare cup for you.”

_PD_ nodded happily and helped himself to four of the biscuits.  Gibbs suppressed a sigh at all the socialising and kept a calm expression on his face.

“Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs …” began James.

“Just Gibbs,” said Gibbs.

“Pardon?”

“You can just call me Gibbs.  It will probably be better not to use our ranks while we are here,” said Gibbs.

“I see.  And what rank are we not using for you, Mr McGee?” asked the Deputy Commissioner.

McGee hastily swallowed the mouthful of tea he had just taken, “Oh, I don’t have a rank, Sir.  I’m a civilian employee, I’m an analyst and a gatherer of information.”

“You’re a _spy_ ,” said PD with relish.

“Oh no, Sir,” said McGee, “I’m just an analyst.  I analyse the information I find.  Really, that’s all.”

PD grinned and McGee suspected he would have liked to probe more but the Deputy Commissioner took back control of the meeting, “Very well, gentlemen.  This is Inspector Anthony Paddington-DiNozzo.  I am assigning him to assist you with your enquiries.”

PD stood up, having already disposed of his tea and the biscuits, “Shall we go to my office?” he suggested.  “Walk this way.”

Unlike with PC Jenks’ invitation, McGee found himself wishing he _could_ emulate the tall Inspector’s graceful confident walk.  He bent to pick up his bags but PD forestalled him, “Let me,” he said.  “Hey, what you got in here?” he said in surprise when he felt the weight.

“Not much,” said McGee nervously, “Street map of London, railway timetables, tide tables, some reference books … you know.”

“Always prepared, eh?  You a boy scout?” asked PD.

“Yes, Sir.  I have a scout troop at home …” McGee trailed off as he remembered that perhaps he shouldn’t apply for British citizenship but return to his duties in America.

Gibbs huffed his distinctive huff leading to PD and McGee abandoning their _chatter._   As they got to the door, the Deputy Commissioner called the Inspector back and Gibbs heard him saying,

“Shouldn’t take too long, PD.  I know you’re winding down …”

“Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”

PD led Gibbs and McGee to his office which barely had room for two desks and a filing cabinet.  Gibbs sniffed and, for a moment, McGee thought it was in disapproval but then realised that the room smelt clean unlike the rest of the building which was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke.

“Make yourself at home,” ordered PD before throwing himself into one of the chairs.  Gibbs took the other one leaving McGee to prop himself against the desk.  “It’s late,” said PD, “I suggest we start afresh tomorrow.”

Gibbs was about to protest but saw the Inspector nod towards McGee who was clearly flagging.

“OK, Paddington-DiNozzo,” he said.  “ _Early_ tomorrow.”

“Call me PD,” said the Inspector.

“I don’t think so,” said Gibbs, uncomfortable with using a nickname.

“Then just DiNozzo,” said PD, “Or Tony.  Paddington-DiNozzo’s got about five too many syllables for daily use.”

“DiNozzo,” compromised Gibbs.

“And what do I call you?” asked Tony.

“Gibbs.”

“And you, Mr McGee?”

“Um, McGee is fine.  Or Tim.”

“Where are you staying?” asked Tony.

Gibbs looked at Tim.  “A boarding house in Montague Street,” said Tim.

“Ah, near the British Museum,” observed Tony.

Tim looked innocent.

“Listen,” said Tony, “I’m playing football this evening.  Why don’t you come along?  I can show you some good places to eat afterwards.”

“Football?” asked Gibbs, “D’you mean soccer?”

“Good gracious, no,” came another voice.  “Anthony’s going to be playing rugby.”

“Rugby?” said Tim, “Is that like American …”

“I suppose it has some similarities to American football,” said the new arrival, “And indeed the two games have the same origin but I would liken it …”

“This is Dr Donald Mallard,” said Tony interrupting the doctor.  “He is our pathologist.”

“Indeed,” said the doctor, “And I come bearing the fruits of my latest endeavour.  I have completed the autopsy on the victim found at St Katharine’s Docks.”

“Thanks, Ducky,” said Tony as he took the proffered folder.

“Ducky?” asked Tim.

“Yes?” replied the doctor.

Tony laughed, “No, I think Tim was querying why I called you Ducky … not asking you a question.”

“Oh, I see.  I am so accustomed now to the nickname that I forget others may not know its origin.  It relates to my surname … a mallard is a species of dabbling or diving duck.  It is very common in this country and I believe that it is often to be found in the Americas.  It is …”

“We know what a mallard is,” said Gibbs.

“And who are your guests, Anthony?” asked Ducky.

“Sorry,” apologised Tony, “This is Gibbs and Tim McGee.”

“Gibbs?” queried Ducky.

“Yes.”

“Just Gibbs?”

“Actually, his name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” supplied Tim.

“Ah,” said Ducky, “I understand.”

“Gibbs and Tim are working on a case here,” said Tony.  “The DC has asked me to help them.”

“How interesting,” said Ducky.  “I look forward to hearing all about it.  Now, Anthony, how would it be if I delivered our visitors to their temporary abodes and then transport them to the rugby ground?”

Tim waited for the refusal but Gibbs simply nodded, “Thank you, Doctor,” and then said, “Wait … were you in the Medical Corps?”

Ducky stiffened slightly, “Do you mean the _Royal Army_ Medical Corps?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Ducky was a major,” said Tony helpfully.

“I thought so,” said Gibbs.  “You worked on a buddy of mine.  Saved his leg … and his life.”

“Indeed,” said Ducky.

“At Belleau Wood,” said Gibbs.  “In France.”

“I remember,” said Ducky.  “June 1918.  Just over ten years ago.  Were you with the Marine Corps?”

“Yes,” said Gibbs.  He and Ducky stared at each other.

“Sad times,” said Ducky.  “So many lives lost … although on that day, some were saved because of your fellow Marines.”

“Yeah,” said Gibbs.

A sombre mood fell on the room.  Finally, McGee said, “But it was the war to end all wars, wasn’t it?”

Ducky smiled, a smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Of course, Timothy.  We must hope so at any rate.”

“So,” said Tony, “Ducky will take the Yanks to their boarding house and I’ll see you at 6 o’clock.  Ruskin Park.”

“It will be a pleasure,” said Ducky.  “Anthony, may I have a word?”

Tony nodded and followed Ducky into the corridor.  Left alone, McGee seized the chance to quiz Gibbs,

“Boss, why are we going to watch the Inspector play sport?”

“Thought you’d be interested, McGee,” said Gibbs blandly.

“I am,” said McGee slightly unconvincingly, “But why are you?  I mean, I didn’t think it was the sort of thing you went in for … you know, socialising with people.”

Gibbs smiled a little grimly, “One of the best ways to find out about people is to watch them play sports,” he said.  “And I want to know about our _Inspector_.”

McGee nodded and understood that he’d just been given the job of delving into Anthony Paddington-DiNozzo’s background.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Timothy McGee sat down on his bed and wished he could go to sleep in it but he knew rest was impossible at the moment: he had to go out and watch some weird English ball game _and_ research one of the players of said weird ball game.  Perhaps his father had been right and he should have joined the Navy instead of joining its intelligence wing … but how was McGee supposed to know he would encounter Typhoon Gibbs? 

Typhoon Gibbs, otherwise known as Gunnery Sergeant Jethro Gibbs, had come into McGee’s section one day shortly after he had started work for the Office of Naval Intelligence.

“Hey,” he had said, “I need to know who to talk to at the War Department about who went to the Geneva Naval Conference.”

Tim’s co-workers, wise to Gibbs, had kept their heads down but Tim, incurably helpful had almost instantly provided the answer.  Gibbs hadn’t said thank you but returned the next day with another question.  Ten days later, McGee was seconded to work with Gibbs and was on his way to England to act as his researcher and gopher.

It didn’t take long for McGee to recognise that the gunnery sergeant was committed and passionate and that he expected his co-workers to follow his lead.  It also didn’t take long for McGee to realise that he could, to some degree, be _managed_ : it was just unfortunate that five days of being seasick had put McGee off his game a little so he hadn’t had the foresight to tell Gibbs that there wouldn’t be a train to London until the next day rather than telling him that, if they hurried, they could catch one in an hour’s time. 

Now, as Tim sat on his bed, he felt as if the world had stopped moving for the first time in six days.  He got up wearily and decided to unpack his bag properly and then smiled as he found a reminder of America: he had forgotten that he had packed several Peanut Sandwich Packets, his favourite cookie.  The horrors of the sea passage had meant he hadn’t wanted to eat but now, he decided, they would be the perfect pick-me-up to prepare him for an evening watching a game of rugby football.

As he munched on his energy providing food, he reached for one of his textbooks …

XXXXXX

The guest house McGee and Gibbs were staying in had a lounge for the use of guests and Gibbs had ordered McGee to meet him there ten minutes before Dr Mallard was due to pick them up.

“Hey, Boss,” said McGee when he joined Gibbs.

Gibbs looked up and grunted.

“That was some car, wasn’t it?” said McGee forgetting, as he often did, that Gibbs wasn’t one for social chit chat.  “I mean,” he went on, “Who’d have thought that Dr Mallard would be such an … aggressive driver?”

“Seemed OK to me,” said Gibbs.

Tim stared at Gibbs but decided not to pursue the subject, “I’ve never been in a three wheeled car before,” said McGee.  “It was a Morgan Aero, you know.”

“I know,” said Gibbs coolly, “I saw the badge.”

“It was odd sitting at the back,” said McGee, “You know, over the wheel.  The one wheel.”  Gibbs continued to stare.  “Not that I mind, of course.  I mean, sitting at the back.”

“Good to know,” said Gibbs blandly.

“Um, I looked up PD.  I mean, Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo,” said McGee.

“You did?”  Gibbs looked more interested.

“Yes.”  McGee paused.

“You want a medal?”

“Excuse me?”

“Or me to throw a parade?”

“What?”

“Just tell me what you found out!” said Gibbs, giving up on subtlety.

“Oh, of course.  Yes, I see.  Well, I looked in Debretts.”

“De- what?”

“Debretts Peerage and Baronetage.  It’s got all the titled people in the country in.”

“And you brought it with you?” asked Gibbs.

“No,” said Tim regretfully, “Although I should have done.  No, I saw that Mrs Lafferty has got a copy.”

“Mrs Lafferty?”

“The landlady,” said Tim.

“I knew that,” said Gibbs, “She got me some coffee.”

Tim felt they had wandered from the subject although he knew that coffee was important to Gibbs.  He coughed, hoping it would have the same effect as a Gibbs’ cough.

“Something go down the wrong way, McGee?” asked Gibbs.

“No, Boss,” said McGee.

“Then what?”

“What?”

“What … as in what did you find out about our Inspector in the book?”

“Oh, yes,” said Tim.  “His grandfather is an earl.”

“A what?”

“An earl.  You know, it’s a lord … or a type of one,” said McGee informatively.

“I know what an earl is, McGee.  You mean to say that DiNozzo is a lord?”

“No, he’s not an earl.  He’s not even an honourable.”

“What’s an honourable?”

“It’s something some people in aristocratic families get called.  But I don’t think they get called it out loud.  It’s just something that’s written.”

“What’s the point then?” asked Gibbs with fine republican fervour.

“I don’t know, Boss,” said McGee, “It’s just something they do.”

“Who do?”

“The British.  The Inspector’s mom was a lady.”

“Didn’t think she’d be a man,” said Gibbs.

“No, Boss.  She was called Lady Elizabeth.  Daughters of earls are called ladies.”

“But grandsons aren’t?” asked Gibbs trying to get it straight in his mind.

McGee thought about pointing out that DiNozzo couldn’t be a lady but decided that Gibbs wasn’t known for his sense of humour – unless he initiated it – so settled for saying, “That’s right.  Grandsons don’t get a title.”

“Not even an honourable?”

“No.  The book says that Lady Elizabeth is dead.  Died when … let me see, when the Inspector was 8 years old.  Huh, that’s sad.”

“DiNozzo,” said Gibbs, “Doesn’t sound very British.”

“Good point,” praised McGee who then looked terrified lest Gibbs think he was being patronising.  “I mean, I didn’t mean to … um …”

Gibbs grinned briefly and gestured for McGee to continue.

“Um, well, Lady Elizabeth married an Italian …”

“An aristocrat?” asked Gibbs.

“Uh, I don’t think so.  It doesn’t say so.  Looks as if he’s actually an American … and PD was born in America.”

“He’s American?”

“He might be.  I’d have to look up the laws around citizenship,” said McGee.

“You brought those with you?” asked Gibbs.

“Only a high level summary,” said McGee apologetically, “A sort of digest.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, the tide tables, street map of London, guide book …”

“About DiNozzo,” sighed Gibbs.

“No, not yet.  But I’ve booked a phone call tomorrow to someone who knows about the American-Italian community,” said Tim.

“OK.”

“And I’ve looked up the rules for rugby …” said Tim.

XXXXXX

Three hours later, McGee, Gibbs, Ducky and Tony were sitting in a fish and chip shop eating the cod in batter, chips and mushy peas which Tony had ordered for all of them.

“Best fish and chips in London,” said Tony as he enthusiastically dowsed his chips in vinegar.

“Why do you call them chips?” asked McGee.

“Because that’s what they are,” said Tony pausing momentarily with a forkful of potatoes in front of his mouth.

“We call them French fries,” said McGee.

“OK,” said Tony, “Whatever.”

“And what’s this?” asked McGee pointing to the heap of green on his plate.

“Just eat, McGee,” ordered Gibbs for whom talking and food weren’t natural bedfellows.

“On it, Boss,” said McGee before taking a cautious mouthful of peas and potatoes.  A blissful look dawned on his face and he saw no need for further enquiry.

McGee’s thirst for knowledge couldn’t remain unsatisfied for long however and, food eaten, he returned to another topic, “Why don’t you wear padding?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” said Tony.

“When you play that game.  It looked … dangerous.”

Although McGee had looked up the basics of rugby, he had been bewildered at what he had seen.  When the first tackle occurred and nobody seemed to be penalised (or arrested) for assault, he had realised that perhaps the British had violent tendencies.  He soon gave up on trying to follow the game but noted that Tony seemed to do a lot of very fast running and kicking of the ball but still often got thrown to the ground.  Remembering that Ducky was a doctor, Tim had expected him to be running on to the field at every assault … tackle but he was remarkably unperturbed by the violence and at one point was to be heard shouting at someone lying winded on the ground to get up and stop being wet.

“Padding would spoil the game,” said Ducky, “It concentrates the mind if you know it’s going to hurt.”

“Did you used to play, Dr Mallard?” asked Tim.

“Indeed,” said Ducky with a reminiscent smile, “I played on the wing.  At one point I was the top try scorer for Edinburgh Medical School.”

“Doctors play rugby?” asked McGee.

“Certainly,” said Ducky.

“Guess it gives them practice at stitching cuts,” muttered Tim.

“And putting dislocated joints back,” said Tony who had heard him.

“And I have reset numerous bones broken during a game,” sighed Ducky happily.

Tim shook his head and gave up trying to understand.

“What time do you want to start tomorrow?” asked Tony.

“Early,” said Gibbs.

“I guessed that,” said Tony, “What do you call early?”

“0700,” said Gibbs with a hint of challenge.

“Fine,” said Tony.  “Can you find your way to the Yard?”

“We’ll be there,” said Gibbs.

“You can walk,” said Tony, “Or go on the Tube.”

“That’s like the Subway in New York, Boss.  Or the L in Chicago,” said McGee helpfully.

“I know, McGee,” said Gibbs.  He thought about telling his co-worker that he didn’t have to provide information _all_ the time but then he caught sight of the vacuum flask that McGee had helpfully produced at the rugby match and which had enabled him to drink hot coffee during the match and decided that compensated for a lot.

XXXXXX

Unsurprisingly, Gibbs and McGee were sitting in Tony’s office when he arrived at 0655 the next morning.

“Good morning, American friends,” said Tony.  “How did you sleep?”

“Good, thank you,” said Tim, grateful that he wasn’t sleeping next to the guesthouse’s bathroom and even more grateful that Gibbs wasn’t either.  “Breakfast was great – and there was a type of sausage I hadn’t had before.”

“Like it?” asked Tony.

“Yes, it was tasty.  Do you know what it is?”

“I’m guessing it was black pudding,” said Tony, “It’s a type of blood sausage.”

Gibbs barked a laugh at the expression on Tim’s face.  “Knowledge isn’t always a good thing, McGee,” he said.

“Right,” said Tony, “Tell me who it is that you’re looking for.”

“We can find him,” said Gibbs.

“Gibbs,” said Tony firmly, “You’re here as guests … and, despite Tim’s reference books, we know London better than you do.”

“We?” asked Gibbs.

“My constable will be here shortly,” said Tony, “PC James Palmer … but he prefers Jimmy.  So, Alexander Lambert … what makes you think he’s come to this country?”

“He lived here at one time,” said Gibbs, “He’s got a number of aliases and got into trouble in a lot of them.  His father was a ship’s carpenter and he worked in the trade for a while which means he’s at home around ships.  Fits in well.  He’s served time in California for smuggling and theft but that was a few years ago now.  We think he’s got better at evading arrest.”

“Any history of violence?”

“He’s ruthless,” admitted Gibbs, “Just before he fled Portsmouth there was a murder on board one of the ships.  And he might have done it.”

“How was the victim killed?”

“His throat was cut.”

“Hmm, has he killed that way before?”

“Suspected,” said Gibbs.

“That’s interesting,” said Tony.

“How so?”

“You remember Dr Mallard giving me an autopsy report yesterday?”

“Sure.”

“Man was killed in St Katharine’s Dock.  He had his throat slit.  Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything.  It’s not an uncommon way for people to die, but …”

“Let’s go,” said Gibbs.

“We will,” said Tony mildly, “I’ll get Sergeant Phelps to come up.  He did the initial investigation.  He’s a good man, worth listening to.  Ah, Jimmy,” he said as a police constable came in, “Meet our fellow … investigators from America.  Gibbs and McGee.  Gibbs and McGee, meet Jimmy.”

“Hello,” said Jimmy, “Nice to meet you.  I don’t think I’ve met any Americans before.  I’ve met Canadians but I’m guessing that’s not the same thing?  How was your journey?  Are you settling in all right?”

“Jimmy,” said Tony shaking his head to discourage these doomed attempts at social intercourse with Gibbs, “Go and ask Larry to come up, will you?”

Jimmy nodded obligingly and scurried off.

“Got a description of Lambert?” asked Tony.

“Could be anyone,” said Gibbs, “Five foot 10, brown hair, brown eyes and no distinguishing features.  He’s also good at changing his appearance.”  He nodded at McGee who rummaged in his brief case and produced a description and a photograph of Lambert.

“OK,” said Tony, “I’ll get on to the ports.  See if they’ve got a record of him coming in.  I know it’s unlikely, but we’d feel pretty stupid if we assumed he was coming in under an assumed name.”

Gibbs nodded; he had doubts about an aristocratic Inspector of police but applauded the refusal to make assumptions.

“Give me a list of his known aliases,” said Tony, “I’ll get those looked at as well.”

“He might not have come in on a liner,” said Gibbs.

“No,” agreed Tony, “Lots of places along the coast he could have come in but we’ll check the main ports.  I’ve got a pal who works for Pathé News.”

“That’s good,” said Gibbs, “But we don’t have time to go look at movies.”

“Gibbs,” said Tony in a shocked voice, “There’s always time to watch a film.  But that wasn’t what I was getting at.  Pathé News films people coming off the big liners when they dock.  They’re looking out for film stars and millionaires but they catch other people as well.  Claude will let us look at the raw footage, we might spot your guy coming ashore.”

“McGee, get on that,” ordered Gibbs.  He could see the value of looking but the thought of staring at hundreds of pictures of potential suspects sent a shiver down his spine.

“Great,” said Tony, “I’ll send Jimmy along with you, Tim.  Gibbs, you and I can go to St Katharine’s once we’ve spoken to Larry.  Hey, we can go by police launch, you’ll like that.”  Tony seemed to feel remorse at depriving Tim of this treat, “McGee, do you want to come with us?  Claude probably won’t be ready for a couple of hours.”

Tim had thought he liked PD but he was horrified at the idea, just as his equilibrium had been restored, of getting on the water again.  He floundered for an excuse but Gibbs, remembering the vacuum flask of the night before, took pity, “No.  You go to the movies, McGee.  And don’t forget, you’ve got that phone call booked.”

“Oh well,” said Tony philosophically, “Another time.”

Tim resolved to be busy whenever that time came.

 


	3. Chapter 3

PC Palmer came back to report that Sergeant Phelps was currently at the Docks so wasn’t immediately available to come and report.

“We’ll go to him then,” said Tony.  “Come on, Gibbs, I thought you were in a hurry to get started!”

Tim choked at these words and wondered what the diplomatic fallout would be if Gibbs struck a Metropolitan police inspector.  Not for the first time, however, Gibbs surprised Tim and simply smiled a thin smile and said,

“Ready when you are, DiNozzo.”

“Good,” said Tony, “Wrap up warm.”

Gibbs smiled a little less thinly and said, “Thanks, Mom.”  He watched as Tony grabbed a huge duffle coat and a trilby hat and wrapped a scarf around his neck.

Tony seemed to sense his question, “I practise what I preach,” he said.  “And it’s cold on the water.”

Gibbs followed DiNozzo out, having donned his own overcoat and fedora hat.

“Huh,” said Tony, “Thought fedoras were only worn by gangsters in your country, Gibbs.”

Gibbs shrugged, “Don’t know about that.  It’s comfortable.  That’s all that matters.  And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Duffle coat – not exactly a fashion statement, is it?”

Tony looked troubled for a moment and Gibbs breathed a hidden sigh of relief: he hadn’t thought that the scruffy duffle coat quite went with the normally stylish clothes worn by PD but he had been taking a risk by saying so.

“You’re right,” acknowledged Tony, “It was my uncle’s.  He was an officer in the Royal Navy.  I reckon if it’s good enough for the British Navy in the North Sea it will do me on the Thames.”

The small talk ended when Tony showed Gibbs the police launch.

“Hey, Percy!” he called out, “Any chance of a ride?”

“Jump on,” said the police officer at the helm.  “Where you going?”

“St Katharine’s.  This is Gibbs.  Gibbs, Percy Winston.  Best pilot on the Thames.”  Percy looked pleased at the comment.  “That’s what he says anyway,” said Tony with a smile to take the sting out of his words.

“For that, you don’t get to ride in the cabin,” said Winston mildly.

“There you go, Gibbs,” said Tony, “You can go in and watch Percy at work.”

He smiled and Gibbs suspected that had been the idea all along.  After a few minutes, however, Gibbs emerged from the cabin and joined Tony in the bow of the boat.

“Great, isn’t it?” said Tony as he pointed to the grey sky and the grey water.

“If you say so,” said Gibbs as his eyes watered from the wind.

“I do say so,” said Tony, “Look, you can see St Paul’s cathedral on the left.”

“It’s called port on board ship,” said Gibbs.

“You can see St Paul’s to port,” said Tony obligingly.  Gibbs looked to port obediently.  “And we’re coming up to Southwark Bridge.  And then we’ll come to London Bridge.”

“So?”

“What do you mean _, so_?” asked Tony.

“Why do I need to know what bridge I’m going under?” asked Gibbs.

“Oh,” said Tony, “Visitors usually like to know.”

“I’m not here for _pleasure_ ,” said Gibbs austerely.

“I bet Tim would be interested,” muttered Tony.

Not quietly enough as Gibbs then laughed, “ _McGee_ would have lost his breakfast, including black pudding, over your shoes by now,” he said.

“Really?” asked Tony.  “That’s weird.”

“Why is it weird?” asked Gibbs.

“Well, he works for your Office of Naval Intelligence, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then why would he join something to do with the Navy if he gets sick on water?”

“Ah,” said Gibbs, “Probably didn’t expect to have to go to sea.  Most of the civilian employees work out of our offices.”

“I see,” said Tony, “Let me guess, you breezed into his life and put a stop to that idea.  Well, I can understand.”

“What can you understand?”

“Why you’d want him.  He’s eager, intelligent and … full of information.  It must be like having a walking encyclopaedia.”

“He’s keen,” admitted Gibbs, “But green …”

“Especially when on a boat,” interrupted Tony.

“He could do with some seasoning,” continued Gibbs.

“I know you’re not interested,” said Tony, “But we’re coming to Tower Bridge now.”

Gibbs nodded as he saw the bridge looming up ahead of him and he felt an unaccustomed thrill as he recognised an iconic landmark he had previously seen in books.  He jumped when a loud bang reverberated through the air.  “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

“Oh,” said an unperturbed Tony, “It was cannon fire.”

“Cannon fire?  Why?  You being invaded?”

“No, they must be practising a royal gun salute.  Parliament’s going to be opening in a few days, they usually have a 41-gun salute.  Look, you can see the smoke – it’s from the Tower of London.”

Gibbs nodded and maintained his iron grip on the railing.  Tony looked at him thoughtfully but didn’t comment.  A few minutes later they arrived at their destination where a stout police sergeant was waiting at the police mooring.

“Larry,” greeted Tony as they came alongside.  “The very man.”

Sergeant Phelps caught the rope thrown to him by Winston and wound it around the bollard.  “PC Palmer telephoned through to say that you were coming, Sir.  So I thought it would save time if I anticipated your arrival.”

“Thanks for the ride, Percy,” said Tony.

Percy nodded, “You could get a job as a tour guide,” he said.

“I owe it all to you, Percy,” said Tony slapping him on the shoulder, “Come on, Gibbs, we haven’t got all day!”

Gibbs contented himself with rolling his eyes at Tony’s witticisms and leapt nimbly off the launch.

“Larry,” said Tony, “This is Gibbs.”

“Gibbs?” said the sergeant, “… er …”

“Just Gibbs,” said Gibbs.

“I see,” said Phelps majestically, “This way, Sir … and Inspector.”

“Larry’s very formal,” whispered Tony in Gibbs’ ear.  “But great at his job.”

Gibbs wasn’t convinced by this but his opinion of Phelps went up when he was ushered into the police station and offered a mug of coffee.  He wasn’t to know that McGee had suggested to Jimmy that, when he phoned down to the Docks, he should hint that a cup of coffee would be welcome.

Tony spooned three heaped spoons of sugar into his coffee and then said, “We’re interested in the murder the other day, Phelps.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Yes, there’s a chance that it’s linked to a case that … Gibbs is working on in America.”

“ _America_ , Sir?”

“America,” said Gibbs firmly.

“I see,” said Phelps as he directed a look at Gibbs which suggested that he hadn’t quite realised that Americans were real people who looked like him.

“Have you seen this person?” asked Tony and handed him a photograph of Alexander Lambert.

Phelps gazed at the picture with the stolid concentration that Gibbs had learned to expect from the British constabulary.  “I’m not sure, Sir,” he said at last, “He’s not someone as would stand out from the crowd, if I may say so.”

“He might have been working as a carpenter,” suggested Gibbs.

“There’s a lot of them around the docks,” said Phelps.

“Can you ask around?” asked Tony.

“Of course, Sir.”

“Carefully,” said Tony, “I don’t want to be investigating your death.”

“I appreciate that, Sir,” said Phelps with a slight softening in his demeanour.

“Do you have any suspects?” asked Gibbs.

Phelps scratched the side of his face thoughtfully, “No, Sir.  And that’s odd in itself.”

“How so?” asked Gibbs.

“Well …” began Larry.

“The sergeant is too modest to say so,” said Tony, “But he’s been working this beat for ten years.  And he knows pretty much everything that goes on here.  If there was bad blood between people here, the chances are that he’d know about it.  But there wasn’t anything to set your alarm bells ringing?”

“No, Sir.  And if I may ask, is this … Alexander Lambert … is he an American like yourself, Sir?”

“Yes,” said Gibbs.

“Although of course, not like you, Sir.  Seeing as he is an hardened criminal, quite unlike yourself,” amended Phelps.

“Thank you,” said Gibbs as the sergeant seemed to expect some response to this character assessment.

“I would have expected to know if an H’american was in the Docks, “continued Phelps, “And I don’t.”

“He’s good at disguising his appearance,” said Tony, “Does that extend to his voice as well, Gibbs?”

“Yes,” said Gibbs, “He could probably pass as another nationality.”

“I see,” said Phelps in what seemed to be his favoured response.

“So, do some digging,” said Tony.

“Of course, Sir.”

“It’s important,” said Gibbs.

Phelps was affronted, “Of course, Sir.  You wouldn’t be with PD if it wasn’t important.  Very highly thought of is our Inspector PD.”

Tony and Gibbs recognised that they had in some way been dismissed so swallowed the last of their coffee and made their farewells.

“How do we get back?” asked Gibbs when he saw that the launch had gone.

“We’ll walk,” said Tony, “We’ll go through the Docks.  Give you a feel for the set up and then walk back along the river.  I can show you Big Ben.”

“Who?” asked Gibbs blankly.

“Never mind,” said Tony who was really wishing that he could have brought Tim along, “And don’t worry, there’s lots of places that sell coffee along the way.”

XXXXXX

“You know,” said Gibbs as he and Tony sat on the Embankment sipping yet more coffee, “I do woodwork.”

“I play the piano,” said Tony puzzled but trying to be helpful.

“What?”

“I play the piano,” repeated Tony.

“Why would I need to know that?”

“Oh, I thought we were sharing hobbies,” said Tony.

“I do woodwork,” said Gibbs coldly, “So I could get a job at the Docks.  Get information that way.”

“Ah,” said Tony, “That makes more sense.”

“So you agree?”

“Oh, no.  Definitely not,” said Tony.

“Why not?”

“With due respect,” said Tony, “I don’t think you’d pass as … not being American.”

“You do,” said Gibbs.

“Pardon?”

“You’re American.  But you sound British,” said Gibbs.

“Ah,” said Tony, “The ever helpful and informative Mr McGee has been busy.”

“You deny it?”

“No, of course not.  Can’t deny the truth.  But it’s different, Gibbs.”

“How so?”

“Yes, I’m American – or to be completely accurate, I’m both American and British.  I was born in America but I’ve lived in this country since I was 8.”

“When your Mom died?”

“ _Very_ busy,” said Tony.  “Yes, my uncle came to visit.  See how we were doing.”

“And how were you doing?”

“I was happy enough,” said Tony, “But Uncle George wasn’t very happy.  You see my father was … is … not exactly cut out for fatherhood.  He got distracted, wasn’t good at the detail.  So, my uncle came to visit and found me on my own in a cold house with no food around.  Give Father his due, he’d tried to make arrangements before going off on a business trip but they just weren’t very good arrangements.”

“What happened?”

“When Father finally came home, Uncle George _persuaded_ him that I’d be better off living with my Mom’s family.”

“And?”

“And I came to Britain and lived with my Mom’s family,” said Tony.  “And I’ve been here ever since.”

“You call your Mom, Mom,” noticed Gibbs.

“Er … yes?”

“I thought English people said Mum or Mummy.” Said Gibbs.

“True.  But we were living in America, so we fitted in.”

“This Uncle George, he the one who was a sailor?”

“Yes, he brought me back and took me to live with him … and Aunt Charlotte.  They became my parents really.”

“That why you wear his duffle?”

Gibbs thought for a moment that Tony wasn’t going to answer and, truthfully, he didn’t know why he’d asked the question but Tony did reply, “Yes.  He was killed at the Battle of Jutland.  The duffle came back to Aunt Lottie when his effects were sent home.  She gave it to me and I’ve had it ever since.”

Gibbs nodded and the two sat in a companionable silence as they each remembered those they had lost in the war.

XXXXXX

The next day was Sunday and, as there were no obvious leads to follow and with footage from arrivals in Liverpool liners awaited, it was agreed that the two teams would take a break for Sunday.  McGee produced his guide book and suggested a tour of the landmarks of London.  Gibbs initially turned down the offer with horror but changed his mind when McGee suggested a river boat cruise along the Thames ending up at the Naval College at Greenwich.

“I’ll meet you in the evening,” said Tony, “You haven’t been to a pub yet, have you?”

“No,” said Gibbs.

“A pub?” asked McGee doubtfully.  “Do they sell drink there?”

“Yes,” said Gibbs patiently.

“No, I mean, do they sell alcohol?”

“Yes,” said Tony, “That’s why people go there.”

“Oh,” said Tim.

“That a problem?” asked Tony.

“Well,” said Tim, “It’s just that …”

“What?” asked a puzzled Tony.

“Well, you see …”

Gibbs took pity on McGee, “Have you ever had alcohol, McGee?”

“Well, no … you see … it was banned by the time I was old enough … or would have been old enough.”

“Oh,” said Tony as the penny finally dropped, “I forgot.  Prohibition.  Wow, so you’ve never had a drink.  What’s that like?”

“I don’t know,” said McGee with dignity, “It’s all I’ve known.”

“You could try,” suggested Gibbs, “It’s legal here.”

It was clear, however, that McGee was conflicted by the idea of doing something which was illegal at home but legal in Britain and, in the end, it was simpler to arrange to meet at a chop house in Fleet Street.

XXXXXX

Tony wondered how McGee and Gibbs had coped with their tour of London.  When he and Ducky met up with them McGee was full of enthusiasm, and information, about what he had seen while Gibbs was happy to chew on his lamb chops. mashed potatoes and mint sauce.  When McGee had finally run out of questions, Gibbs did enter the conversation,

“What’s with all the kids on the streets?”

“What _kids_ might they be?” asked Ducky courteously.

“Sitting on the sidewalk with dummies.  Begging for money.”

“Oh,” said Ducky, “Penny for the guy.  Sitting on the _pavement_ ,” he added softly.

“That’s right,” said Gibbs, “What’s that about?  Didn’t think begging was allowed.”

“They’re collecting money for Guy Fawkes night,” explained Tony.  He saw that Gibbs looked blank, “Guy Fawkes was involved in a plot to blow up Parliament.  But he was caught.”

“The Gunpowder Plot,” said Ducky, “And people were allowed to light bonfires to celebrate the failure of the plot.  And gunpowder became involved in the celebrations and the effigy of Guy Fawkes is burned.”

“I see,” said Gibbs who clearly didn’t, “And when was this?”

“1605,” said McGee who had been bursting to provide information.

“ _1605_?” said Gibbs.  “And you’ll still doing it?”

“Tradition is very important to us,” said Ducky.  “No doubt when the United States is as old as the United Kingdom you will also find that you adhere to old traditions.”

“And you still light fires?” asked Gibbs.

“And set off fireworks,” said McGee.  “I think there’s going to be a party in the square around the corner from our lodging house.  Perhaps we can go?”

Gibbs returned to his chop and Tony was also quiet.

XXXXXX

The next evening found Gibbs in a pub near the lodging house looking at a pint of bitter.

“So it’s not just coffee you drink,” came a familiar voice. 

Gibbs looked up to see Tony standing in front of him.

“DiNozzo.  What you want?”

“Just checking out a theory,” said Tony.  “May I join you?”

“Free country,” said Gibbs.  “What theory?”

“I went to see your landlady, Mrs Lafferty.  She said that Tim had gone to the fireworks display but she didn’t think you’d gone.  So I looked in the pubs.  And here you are.”

“You should be a detective,” said Gibbs, “You have the skills.”

“Thank you,” said Tony apparently oblivious to the sarcasm.

“What do you want?” asked Gibbs again.

Tony didn’t say anything but took a sip of his own half of shandy.  He waited until he heard a firework go off and saw Gibbs jump.

“That,” he said.

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“I saw you jump when that cannon fired the other day.  And I remembered, you were at Belleau Wood.”

“So?”

“So, you can’t live in this country and not know that men who served on the front line … well, some of them are still affected by what happened to them.”

“Shell shock,” said Gibbs bleakly.

“Yes,” said Tony gently.  “Tonight’s going to be tough for you, isn’t it?”

“I’ll manage,” said Gibbs keeping a tight grip on his glass as another bang sounded.

“What would you do if you were at home?”

“Get drunk,” said Gibbs.

“Even with Prohibition?”

For answer, Gibbs just smiled bitterly.

“Come with me,” said Tony.

“What?”

“It’s going to take you a long time to get drunk here.  Come back to my flat …”

“Your what?”

“My apartment,” amended Tony, “I’ve got alcohol that’ll work quicker than this.  And you won’t have to face McGee drunk.”

“What?”

“I left a message with Mrs Lafferty to say that you’d been called into the Yard on a lead and that you’d see him in the morning.”

“You were confident, weren’t you?” said Gibbs.

“Not really,” said Tony, “Like you said before, I’ve got skills.  And in this case, you were easy to read.  You coming or not?”  Gibbs hesitated.   “You can get drunk in privacy,” said Tony, “And I’m not going to judge you.  Believe me, I’m not.”

There was something in the way that Tony said the words that convinced Gibbs and the thought of privacy was very appealing to such a private person.

“OK,” he said, “Where do you live?”

“I’ve got my car outside,” said Tony, “It’ll only take us ten minutes.  But you’ll need to hold on, it’s going to be noisy out there.”

“I’m a Marine,” said Gibbs, “I can do it.”

“I’m sure you can,” said Tony, “Come on, let’s go.”

“You sure say that to me a lot,” groused Gibbs even as he got up to follow.

“Comes of being in charge,” said Tony smugly.

“What!”  the burst of irritation carried Gibbs through the doors and into Tony’s car, “Who said you’re in charge?”

Tony laughed and cranked the starting handle before jumping into the car.  “Who said I’m not?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case shandy is unique to the UK, I should explain that it’s beer mixed with lemonade or ginger beer.


	4. Chapter 4

Gibbs awoke the next morning with a slight moan and opened his eyes reluctantly.  He squinted at his surroundings trying to decide why his hotel room seemed to have changed.

“Morning,” came a cheerful but considerately muted voice.

“Uh?”

“Good morning.  How do you feel this morning?” asked Tony.

“Ah,” said Gibbs as he remembered some of what had happened the night before.

“I’ve got Aspirin,” offered Tony.

“Nah,” said Gibbs, “Just coffee.”

“Really?” said Tony.  “You sure?  You put a lot of alcohol away last night.”

Gibbs sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch on which he had been sleeping.  He rubbed his face with his hands and then scratched his head vigorously.  Seemingly refreshed by this he said, “I’m OK.  I don’t get hangovers.”

“Oh,” said Tony, “But I guess that makes sense.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t normally recommend drinking oneself into a stupor as a way of dealing with … you know, but if you don’t get hangovers it makes sense.”

“Hmm.  What _would_ you recommend?” asked Gibbs.

“Good point.  I don’t know, talking about it perhaps?”

Gibbs laughed.

“Or not,” said Tony.

“You moving in … or moving out?” asked Gibbs.

“Pardon?”

Gibbs gestured to the packing cases stacked in a corner of the room and the empty shelves.

“Oh, moving out,” said Tony.

“Why? It’s a nice place,” observed Gibbs as he looked around the elegant room.

“Thank you.  Yes, I like it but I’m moving somewhere … more convenient.”

Gibbs couldn’t remember much about the previous night but didn’t think that the drive from the pub had been long enough to make Tony’s flat be somewhere inconvenient.  He shrugged, it was none of his business.

“Uh, thank you for last night.”

“My pleasure,” said Tony.  “Glad to help.”

“You were right.  I wouldn’t have wanted McGee to see me drunk.”

“Is that why you’re not on active service?” asked Tony.

“What?  What has that got to do with me not wanting McGee to see me drunk?”

“Oh, not that.  I meant the shell shock thing.”

“Yeah,” said Gibbs, “I’m OK most of the time.  And back home I can mostly predict what’s going to happen, what the triggers might be but those bangs took me by surprise.”

“You could talk to Ducky, you know,” said Tony tentatively.

“Someone who cuts up dead people?” said Gibbs, “No, thank you.  I’ll manage.”

“He’s a good doctor,” said Tony defensively.  “And being in the RAMC, well, he saw a lot of men suffering.  He’s interested in potential treatments and he’s kept up to date with new advances.”

“A cure?” asked Gibbs.

“Not sure about a _cure_ ,” said Tony, “But treatments are improving.  Opinions changing … and Ducky is blessed with an enquiring mind.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Gibbs in a tone which suggested he wouldn’t.

“You want breakfast?” asked Tony.  “I can’t do you a cooked breakfast like Mrs Lafferty would give you but I’ve got toast and marmalade.”

“What’s that?”

“Marmalade?  You might like it, it’s like bitter jam … or you might call it jelly.”

“Bitter?” said Gibbs.

“It’s made of oranges, with bits of peel in.  Or I’ve got Marmite.”

“Is that like marmalade?”

Tony laughed.  “No, and you definitely don’t spread it thickly.  It’s sort of gooey brown stuff.  You either love it or hate it.  Actually, it might be good for you today.”

“How so?”

“I like it when I’m feeling nauseous.  Sort of clears the taste buds.”

“Go for it then,” said Gibbs.  “Can I wash up somewhere?”

“Sure, the bathroom’s down the passage.  I’ll get to work on the coffee and toast.”

XXXXXX

Tony and Gibbs drove to Scotland Yard in Tony’s Austin 7 which was clearly a much prized possession.  Gibbs found himself pondering his latest culinary experience.  Tony had been right to think that the strong taste of both marmalade and Marmite would appeal to Gibbs but he wasn’t sure that he’d want to take any back home with him.  The fresh air blew away the residue of any aftereffects of the alcohol.

McGee was waiting for them in Tony’s office at the Yard.

“Any word on that lead?” he asked hopefully.

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“You know, the lead we were following up on last night,” interjected Tony.

“Oh yeah, _that_ lead.  No, didn’t come to anything.  What you doing here, McGee?” said Gibbs.

“Just checking,” said McGee.  “Jimmy … PC Palmer and I are on the way to the movie theatre to carry on looking at the films.  Claude said that the film from Liverpool would be here today.”

“OK,” said Gibbs.  “Any word from home about the murder?”

“No,” said McGee, “There haven’t been any sightings of Lambert so it looks as if he’s definitely gone somewhere else.  There’s a wiretap in place with the people we think he was working with in the States so we’ll know if he gets in touch with them.”

“Right,” said Gibbs, “Tell them to let us know if Lambert calls anyone.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“You still here, McGee?”

“Uh, yes, Boss.  But not for much longer.  I’ll see you later … er, bye.”

“What’s next?” asked Gibbs once McGee had left, “… seeing as you think you’re in charge.”

Tony grinned but continued to look at a folder he had picked up from his desk, “Huh,” he said, “That’s interesting.”

“You know,” said Gibbs conversationally, “There’s people back home who would tell you that I don’t play guessing games.”

“Why would they tell me that?” asked Tony absently.

“Because I don’t play guessing games,” said Gibbs.

“What?” asked Tony as he dragged his eyes reluctantly from the report.

Gibbs wondered if the language difference between America and England was bigger than he’d thought so he said loudly and slowly, “What’s interesting?”

“Oh,” said Tony as the penny finally dropped, “We’ve identified the man who was murdered at St Katharine’s Dock.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.  His name is Bernard Sewell.  His landlady had reported him missing but it took a while to connect him to the murder.”

“Why?”

“He worked at the Western Docks and lived close by.”

“Where’s the Western Dock?”

“Further down the river from St Katharine’s, in Wapping.  There wasn’t any reason for him to be at St Katharine’s.”

“What did he do there?”

“He was a ship’s carpenter but he also did general repairs for a company that imports wine and coffee.  The dock specialises in high end luxury goods.”

“You think he was killed there?”

“Possibly,” said Tony, “Dumping him elsewhere … or luring him there would throw us off the scent.  Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“Huh, maybe your idea isn’t so crazy after all.”

“What idea?”

“You getting a job as a carpenter.”

“I thought you didn’t like that idea,” said Gibbs.

“I didn’t but I’m capable of changing my mind.”

“Go on,” said Gibbs.

“I still don’t think you could pass as not being American but I don’t think that will matter.  You can say that you’re out of work in America … you could hint that you haven’t been able to settle since the war.  You came across to see if you could make some money in.  You can turn your hands to most things … you _can_ turn your hand to most things, can’t you?”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Gibbs.

“We know there’s probably a job going at the Western Dock … I didn’t want you doing it at St Katharine’s in case anyone had seen you there but this works better.”

“I can dig around, see if anyone knows what … what was his name?”

“Bernard Sewell.  You could try his landlady, see if she’s still got his room available.”

“Sounds good,” said Gibbs.  “Would people know you down there?”

“They might do,” said Tony cautiously, “Why?”

“Oh, just thinking of a way to establish my not so honest credentials,” said Gibbs mysteriously.  “You can run fast, can’t you?”

XXXXXXX

Tony gasped as he ran after Gibbs who turned out to have a fair turn of speed himself which didn’t seem to be much affected by the heavy workman’s boots he was wearing.  Gibbs slowed down slightly as he came to the dockside and allowed Tony to catch up with him.  Tony grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round,

“Got you,” he shouted and then, seeing Gibbs raise his arm to punch him, said in a lower voice, “Don’t hit me.  No one here will believe it if you’re back on the streets tomorrow after hitting a bobby.”

Gibbs nodded slightly as he acknowledged the fairness of the comment, “It wasn’t me,” he shouted back, “I’m telling you it wasn’t me.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Tony sternly as he slapped handcuffs on to Gibbs’ wrists and dragged him off.

“You think they bought it?” asked Gibbs.

“If there was anyone watching,” said Tony, “And there usually is.  Yeah, I think you’ll be accepted as a seedy lowlife bit of nothing.”

“Thank you,” said Gibbs.  “And thank you for the clothes,” he gestured towards the rough workman’s gear he was wearing.

“Don’t thank me, thank the lost property office.  It’s amazing what people lose,” replied Tony.

Gibbs skulked back to the Western Dock later that afternoon having been ‘released’ pending further enquiries.

Tony waited in his office for Jimmy and McGee to return.

“Any luck?” he asked when they came back shortly after 5pm.

“No, I think we’ve looked at everything,” said McGee, “Although there’s something niggling at me.”

“What?” asked Tony.

“Don’t know.  If I knew it wouldn’t be niggling, would it?” snapped Tim before flushing red with embarrassment at having _talked back_ to a superior officer.  “I … I didn’t … I mean …”

“Don’t worry, Tim,” said Tony, “You’ve had a long day.  Come fresh to it tomorrow.”

“Yes, thank you.  I will.  Er … where’s Gibbs?”

“Oh, he got a new job.”

“Excuse me?”

“He got bored, decided to get a job until you break the case.”

“Really?” asked Tim.

“Yep.  I had to arrest him as well,” said Tony with relish.

“What!” exclaimed Jimmy.

“Or not,” conceded Tony.  “We found out that the man killed at the docks actually lived and worked down at Western Dock.  Gibbs has gone to get a job down there.  We added a bit of _authenticity_ by me _arresting_ him down there.  Should make him interesting to the lowlife down there.”

“Is it _safe?”_ asked McGee anxiously.

Tony thought for a moment, “Not completely, of course.  But Gibbs gives me the impression of being someone who can take care of himself.  And the beat constables are going to keep an eye on him.  We’ve set up some places he can drop messages to us.  He’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure?” asked McGee.

“No, I’m not sure,” said Tony with a hint of impatience, “But sometimes in this job we have to take risks.”

“Oh, all right,” said McGee.  “Is there anything else I can do?”

“No,” said Tony, feeling ashamed of his spurt of temper.  “Go home.  Rest your eyes.  Have you got plans for tonight?”

Tim brightened, “A friend of mine is lecturing at Imperial College.  He’s arranged for us to go to the Science Museum and look at the Babbage archive.”

“Yes?” said Tony.

“Yes.  It’s fascinating.  He tried to build a calculating machine … it could change the way we do everything,” said Tim.  In a burst of generosity, he added, “Do you want to come too?  I’m sure Henry wouldn’t mind.”

“No … thank you,” said Tony.  “I’ve got plans.”

“Oh, if you’re sure,” said McGee.  “I’ll see you in the morning then.  Or I may go straight to the movie house.  It’ll be quicker.”

“All right,” said Tony, “Have a good evening.”

Tim left and Ducky came in shortly afterwards.

“I was passing when I happened to hear you talking about Gibbs,” he said.

Tony raised an eyebrow, “ _Happened_ ”? he asked.

“Well,” said Ducky, “I dropped a pile of papers and had to stop and pick them up.”

“Was that before or after you _happened_ to hear me talking?” asked Tony.

“After,” admitted Ducky.  “You’re worried, aren’t you?”

“You know me too well,” said Tony.  “I shouldn’t be worried, should I?  After all, Gibbs is an experienced operative.  He knows not to do anything stupid.  He’d call for help, wouldn’t he?”

“I’m sure he would,” said Ducky soothingly.

“Of course he would,” said Tony.

“Just as you would,” said Ducky blandly.

“I wouldn’t do anything foolhardy,” said Tony.

“No?” queried Ducky.

“Perhaps once,” conceded Tony, “But I’ve learned that going off on your own tends to cause more problems than it solves.”

“And you’re concerned that Gibbs hasn’t learned that lesson?”

“It’s just a feeling,” said Tony, “He wants to get things moving.  It worries me.  And I’m not sure he’s got a high opinion of the British police.”

“And so?” asked Ducky.

“And so what?” replied Tony.

“And so, what are you going to do about it?”

“I guess I may be spending some time in the Western Dock this evening, keeping an eye on him,” admitted Tony.

“And me,” said Jimmy firmly.  “Two sets of eyes are better than one!”

“ _We_ may be spending time in the Western Dock tonight,” amended Tony.

XXXXXX

As it turned out, however, Tony and Palmer spent a fairly uneventful night.  They saw Gibbs leaving a pub at closing time and going to his new lodgings where he stayed all night.

It was not long after they got to Scotland yard the next morning that Jimmy answered the telephone in their office,

“No.  I don’t know.  I see, thank you.  Goodbye.”

“What?” asked Tony when Jimmy put the receiver down.

“That was the cinema.  It seems that Tim hasn’t shown up to look at the films this morning.”

“Maybe he overslept,” said Tony, “You know, worn out by the excitement of going to the Science Museum?”

“Maybe,” said Palmer but he and Tony were already both putting their overcoats on in preparation for going to McGee’s guesthouse to try and find out what had happened to their American visitor.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony chasing Gibbs is a reference back (forwards?) to the Baltimore episode where something similar happened.


	5. Chapter 5

Palmer and Tony went to the guesthouse hoping to find that McGee had simply overslept or was still eating his way through a giant portion of black pudding.

“Can I help you?” asked a stately middle aged woman when she saw them standing outside the dining room.

“We’re looking for Timothy McGee,” said Tony.  “One of your …”

“Guests.  Yes, I know who all my guests are.  And who are you?”

“I’m Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo from Scotland Yard.  This is Constable Palmer.”  Tony showed her his warrant card.

“I see.  I’m Isabella Lafferty, I own the Montague Private Hotel.”

“Mrs Lafferty,” said Tony, “As I said, we’re looking for Timothy McGee.  Is he still here?”

“I don’t believe so,” said Mrs Lafferty.  “Let me check the board,” she went into the small office and checked the room keys which were hanging there, “No,” she said, “As I thought, Mr McGee left his room key when he left after breakfast.  I do not believe that Mr Gibbs returned to the hotel last evening.”

“No,” said Tony, “He’s … away for a few days.  What time did Mr McGee leave?”

“About 8am.  I remember because he took the trouble to thank me for the delicious breakfast.  _He_ is a very polite young man.”  She sniffed and Tony wondered if there was another guest she didn’t consider to be so polite.

“Thank you,” said Tony, “That’s very helpful.  Did you see which way he went?”

Mrs Lafferty seemed to weigh up whether she should answer: she wanted to be helpful but she also didn’t want to give the impression that she spied on her guests.  Kindness won out over pride and she said, “He turned left out of the door.  But I fear that is not helpful to you as the hotel is situated near a junction and he could have taken any direction from there.”

“I see.  Is that the way he normally leaves?” asked Tony.

“I believe so,” said Mrs Lafferty.

“Thank you,” said Tony.  “Here is my card.  If Mr McGee returns, would you ask him to phone Scotland Yard on this number.  Or, if you think of anything else, please call me.”

“Certainly,” said Mrs Lafferty, “May I ask?  Is Mr McGee in trouble of any kind?  He seems such a nice polite young gentleman, hardly the sort of person to get into difficulties.  In fact, if it was not for the accent, I would not have believed him to be American.”

Tony could think of no reply to that so he put his hat back on, touched the brim in farewell and led Jimmy outside.

“What now?” asked Jimmy.

“We’ll go to the cinema.  Make sure Tim hasn’t turned up there.  No, wait, I’ll go there.  You go back to the Yard and get the word out that Tim has gone missing.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Jimmy.  “If I hurry there should be a number 17 bus back.”

“Actually, I’ll come with you, I can catch a bus to the cinema.  It’ll be a little quicker than walking.”

XXXXXX

“Any luck?” asked Jimmy when he and Tony met about an hour later at the Yard.

“As your superior officer, I feel I should point out that it is hard work, dedication and intelligence that solves cases, not luck,” said Tony.

“Oh well,” said Jimmy philosophically, “I guess that confirms I’m in the wrong job.”

“However,” said Tony, “As a realist, I’m aware that luck plays a big part.  So don’t let that be the reason you quit.  And no, I didn’t have any luck.  Tim hasn’t shown up.  He’s gone missing somewhere between Montague Street and Oxford Circus.”

“I telephoned to Imperial College,” said Jimmy, “Spoke to Dr Henry Wagstaff.”

“Who?”

“Tim’s lecturer friend,” said Jimmy.

“How did you know his name?”

“Tim said his name was Henry.  Turns out there’s not that many American lecturers called Henry at Imperial.”

“Good job,” praised Tony, “You should reconsider quitting.”

“Thank you,” grinned Jimmy, “But it didn’t help.  Dr Wagstaff said they had an interesting evening, had supper in a restaurant near the Museum and then Tim went back to his hotel.”

“Did he …”

“Said Tim was in good form, didn’t seem to be worried about anything and was enjoying his stay in London … although not looking forward to the voyage home.”

“All right,” said Tony.  “I need to go see Gibbs.  See what he wants to do.”

“And I think Tim must have changed his mind about going straight to the cinema this morning,” said Jimmy.

“What makes you think that?”

“He left his briefcase here.  Perhaps he thought it would be safer to leave it behind if he was going out.  PC Jenks said he came back about 6.30pm, after we’d left.”

“All right, have a look at it.  See if anything hits you.  I’m going down to Western Dock.  Gibbs’ little play yesterday may come in handy.”

“Sir?”

“I can come the heavy policeman checking up on someone he’s suspicious of,” said Tony.  “I’ll take my car.  If anything comes up, call through to Western Dock station, tell someone to come find me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

XXXXXX

Tony found Gibbs walking along the dockside with a surly expression on his face.  The scowl deepened when he saw Tony approaching.

“What?” he asked, “We didn’t plan to do this again.”

“It’s McGee,” said Tony, “He didn’t show up at the cinema this morning.  We’ve checked, he left the guesthouse this morning as usual but didn’t show up.  You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“No,” said Gibbs.

“He said something was bothering him about the film footage,” said Tony, “But he didn’t know what it was.  He was going to check again this morning.”

“What have you done so far?”

“The men on the beat have been told to look out for him,” said Tony.  “I wanted to check with you first, see how you wanted to handle it.”  He pushed Gibbs’ shoulder, “Sorry,” he said, “Don’t want this to look like a polite conversation.”

“Don’t apologise,” said Gibbs absently.  “What do you think?”

“We can flood the Western Dock with police,” said Tony, “The murder of Sewell gives us a reason for doing that.”

“You think that’s best?”

“If we assume that McGee’s disappearance is linked to your case, then yes,” said Tony.  “But it might not be, might just be coincidence.  Well-dressed tourists can be a target for thieves … and worse.”

“Humph,” said Gibbs, “I’m not a fan of assumptions or coincidences.  I was talking to Sewell’s landlady.  Seems he mostly did casual work but he often worked out of Misselbrook’s Warehouse in the Hermitage Basin.  I was on my way to see if I could get taken on there.”

“I’ll get some men down here,” said Tony.  “Won’t flood the area and we won’t say we’re looking for McGee.”

“We’ve got to find him,” said Gibbs.  “He’s meant to be here to do research.  He didn’t come here to mix it up with the bad guys.  This isn’t what he signed up for.”

“I know,” said Tony soothingly.

“The Marine Corps doesn’t leave men behind,” said Gibbs firmly.

“Neither does the British Army,” said Tony.

“You serve?” asked Gibbs sceptically.

“1916-18,” said Tony.

“France?”

“Did eight weeks in the trenches.  Then I got moved to be ADC to General Whitworth.”

“ADC?”

“Aide-de-camp.”

“Ah, gopher.”

“If you say so,” said Tony evenly.  “So, you on board with this?”

“Yes.  I’ll meet you at the Cross Keys pub at 18.00.  In the tap room.”

“Make it outside,” said Tony.  “It’ll be better.”

Gibbs looked at Tony curiously but agreed.  Tony shoved Gibbs again and stormed off In the opposite direction.  Gibbs muttered under his breath as if cursing an interfering policeman and walked towards the Hermitage Basin.

XXXXXX

Back at the Yard, Tony looked at McGee’s notes about the films.

“Anything?” asked Jimmy.

“No, not really.  Don’t think he saw anyone who looked like Lambert.  It’s just a list of the reels he’d looked at and how long each one was.  I guess he needed that in case he spotted something so he could work out the time someone came ashore.”

“Doesn’t help us then,” said Jimmy.

“No … wait, there is something odd.”

“Yes?”

“The footage for the arrivals lasts about 3 hours.  All except the one for the RMS Olympic, that’s only got 2 hours.”

“So?”

“Probably nothing.”

“Perhaps nobody interesting was on board?” Jimmy suggested.

“Maybe.  Ask the switchboard to get me through to Claude,” said Tony.  “Here’s the number.”

A few minutes later, Tony was talking to his friend Claude.

“Hey, Claude.  Thanks for getting that footage to us.  Can I ask you … October 21st.  The Olympic came into Southampton.  Any reason why you didn’t film for long?”  Tony listened to the reply, “Yes, that’s what I thought.  Any chance of you getting us another copy?  Thank you.  I owe you.”

“What?” asked Jimmy.

“October 21st.  Charlie Chaplin was on board the Olympic.  Claude said the filming went on for longer than normal.”

“And you remembered that?”

“I knew Chaplin had come into Southampton on the Olympic.  It was on the Pathé News but I didn’t remember the date.  Did Tim mention while you were at the cinema that he was puzzled?”

Jimmy thought back.  “Come to think of it, yes.  We were just leaving and going through the foyer when he said there was something odd that he couldn’t put his finger on.”

“Anyone in the foyer at the time?”

“Couple of young boys.  You know how they hang around hoping to pick up some errands.”

“Go back, see if you can find anything out about them,” said Tony.

“You think this is why Tim got taken?”

“I think Lambert is a thorough person.  If he knew that Gibbs had come here to investigate he might have had someone following him and McGee.  And if he knew that Tim was going to the cinema he might have got worried that he was on the film somehow.  Looks like he managed to get to the film and get rid of some of it.”

“But even if he was on film, it wouldn’t have helped us find him, would it?” said Jimmy.

“No.  It would have confirmed that he was in the country.  It was always a long shot.  I think Gibbs went along with it because it kept McGee out of harm’s way.  Well, that worked out well … not.”

“I’m going,” said Jimmy.

XXXXXX

Gibbs got taken on to repair shipping crates at the Misselbrook Warehouse.  He banged nails in as quietly as possible so as to be able to listen in to any conversations.  There seemed to be some anxiety about the increased number of police on the beat but Gibbs got the impression that was because some of his co-workers was resentful that they might not be able to slip the odd bottle of spirits into their pockets: it seemed this was considered a legitimate perk of the job.

When they halted for a mug of tea, Gibbs tried asking a few questions,

“The woman who runs the lodging house, she said that someone got killed here”.

“Not here,” said Sid.  “’e worked here.  But they found him up the river a ways.”

“Oh, she must have got it wrong,” said Gibbs.

“Old Ma Maxie, she gets a lot wrong,” said Joe. 

“Comes of _h’overimbibing_ ,” said Sid.

“You can talk,” said Jack.

“I don’t drink until it’s dark,” said Sid with dignity before adding, “That’s why I like the winter.  H’it gets dark early!”

“What was he like?” asked Gibbs.

“Who?”

“Soolie.”

“You mean Sewell.  Bernie?  He was OK.  A bit nosy.  And clumsy.  Think ‘e thought ‘e was too good for us,” said Jack.

“He work here long?” asked Gibbs.

“Off and h’on,” said Joe.  “When he couldn’t get nothing better.  Which was most of the time!”

Shortly after this, they were ordered back to work and Gibbs resumed his repairs.  He finished one crate and picked it up to return it to the delivery area but took care to take a detour.  He didn’t spot anything suspicious so collected another damaged crate and took it back to the repair area: he repeated this process a number of times and, by this means, managed to explore a good portion of the warehouse.

In the middle of the afternoon, he took a crate to a dimly lit corner of the building and became aware of a tapping sound coming from beneath his feet.  He paused, unsure whether it was just one of the sounds of a busy dock area but as he listened he realised that there was a rhythm to it: three short taps, followed by three longer ones, followed by another three short taps _.  SOS_!

Gibbs put the crate down, looked around cautiously and knelt down.  He spelt out _McGee_ in Morse code and waited for a reply.  The code for _Yes_ came back quickly.  Gibbs grinned to himself and tapped out _Gibbs here_ , _wait, will come to get you._

Gibbs peered into the gloom and saw a flight of steps in the corner.  He moved towards the staircase, took his flashlight out of his jacket pocket and went down cautiously.  The stairs led to another storage area which Gibbs guessed could give direct access to the water.  There were a number of doors but only one was shut and it was to this door that he made his way.

“McGee,” he whispered through the door, “You there?”

“Boss?” came a similarly muted reply.  “Is that you?”

“Who d’you think?” replied Gibbs momentarily forgetting his relief at finding his junior.

“Sorry,” said Tim.

“That’s OK,” said Gibbs repenting his impatience.  “Hang on, I’ll get you out.”

“Gibbs, they might be back soon,” warned McGee.

Too late, Gibbs briefly registered the pain to the back of his head before darkness claimed him

XXXXXX

Outside the Cross Keys, Tony paced uncertainly.  He stopped under a street lamp and looked at his watch, it was 6.30pm.  He hadn’t known Gibbs long but it was long enough to know that he wouldn’t be late without reason.  With a sigh, he started walking towards the Hermitage Basin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once read a detective story set around this time in London where the police inspector finished an interview and then hopped on a bus to go back to the police station … so I think it’s possible that’s what Jimmy and Tony did.


	6. Chapter 6

 “Boss … Boss … are you OK?”

Gibbs came back to consciousness to the sound of McGee’s anxious voice and a shaking of his shoulder.  He allowed himself a moment of weakness and groaned.

“Boss?” came Tim’s voice again.  “Wake up!”

“I am awake,” said Gibbs crossly.  “Stop shaking me!”

“Sorry, Boss.  I was just trying to wake you up … I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s all right,” said Gibbs as he remembered that Tim was supposed to be an office bound researcher rather than … well, rather than whatever had happened to him.  “You OK, McGee?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” said McGee.

Gibbs frowned: it hardly seemed fair that McGee was _fine_ while he had been knocked out.  “What happened?” he asked.

“You got knocked out,” said McGee.

Gibbs closed his eyes for a moment but quickly opened them again lest McGee take them as a signal to resume his shaking.  “I _know_ ,” he said, “What happened to _you_?”

“Oh, _me_ ,” said Tim.  “I’d just left the guesthouse when someone stopped to ask me directions.  Except they didn’t want directions, they wanted me.  Two more men showed up and they bundled me into a car.  And then they brought me here and locked me in.  Where is _here, Boss?”_

 _“_ Western Dock,” answered Gibbs.  “Hermitage Basin.”

“Oh,” said McGee, “I thought we must be in the docks somewhere but they laid me down on the floor of the car so I couldn’t see out.  How did you know I was here?”

“We didn’t,” admitted Gibbs, “But we found out where Sewell worked and I got a job here too.  We figured we’d go with the idea that your disappearance was connected to our case and try and pick up clues that way.”

“It worked,” said McGee.

Gibbs stared at him; sometimes Gibbs thought about drawing up a list of rules and now he thought that one of the first rules should be _don’t state the obvious._   “Yeah,” he said, “It was good work doing the Morse code, McGee.”

McGee flushed with pleasure, “You sure you’re OK, Boss?  It sounded like quite a thump.”

“I’m fine, McGee.  I had a sergeant once who used to get our attention by slapping the back of our heads.  Compared to him, this is a walk in the park.”

It was McGee’s turn to stare, torn between admiration of Gibbs’ stoicism and horror at the thought of a superior who used violence.  “That’s …”

Gibbs was destined never to find out what McGee was about to say as, at that moment, the door opened and three men walked into the room.

“Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs,” said one of them.  “I wish I could say it was a pleasure.”

Gibbs recognised the speaker as the man they had crossed the Atlantic to capture, “I’m here to arrest you, Alexander Lambert,” he said.  “Give up now and it will go better for you.”

Lambert seemed genuinely amused at Gibbs’ bravado, “As I said, it’s not a pleasure but at least I know where you are now.”

“How did you know we were after you?” asked McGee.

The smile stayed on Lambert’s face although Gibbs didn’t think he’d bet any large sum on it being a sign of friendliness.  “I knew the Office of Naval Intelligence were sniffing around,” he replied.  “And I knew that the Gunnery Sergeant was leading the investigation … and that he had a new sidekick in you.”

“Is that why you came to England?  To get away from us?” asked McGee.

“It suited my plans,” said Lambert vaguely.  “It just meant I came to England a little earlier than I’d planned.  I will admit it was annoying when the person I employed to keep an eye on Gibbs told me he was on his way here … but I’m used to adapting to circumstance.  Flexibility is a necessity in my business.”

“You planning to sell the secrets you stole here?” asked Gibbs.

Lambert laughed again, “No!  I haven’t _stolen_ any secrets.  If you’ve lost any, I suggest you search again.”

“Don’t give me that,” said Gibbs, “We know you were hanging around trying to get information about the US submarine capacity.  And that’s treason, you know.”

“Dear me, is it?” said Lambert in mock horror. 

Gibbs narrowed his eyes to stare at Lambert as he tried to work out what was going on.

“Ah, I’ve puzzled our poor Gunnery Sergeant,” cooed Lambert.  “Yes, I was _hanging around_ the submarines but not for the reason you’re thinking of.”

“Then why?” demanded Gibbs.

“I was looking into whether we could use submarines for our smuggling operations,” said Lambert.  “Although even that was an afterthought.  I originally went to Portsmouth to see if I could get details of navy patrols … the submarine idea was just a bonus.”

“But you were coming to England anyway?” asked McGee, “Why?”

“Smuggling, McGee,” said Gibbs curtly.  “That’s what he said.”

“But smuggling what?” asked McGee.

For answer, Gibbs sniffed, “What do you smell, McGee?”

Tim sniffed obediently, “Er … damp … the smell of the river … and, oh – alcohol!”

“Well done!” Lambert clapped sarcastically.  “Alas, Prohibition has not prevented people still wanting liquor …”

“You sound heartbroken,” interjected Gibbs.

“You’re right, I shed crocodile tears,” admitted Lambert, “There are many wealthy people who still want to drink.  And they certainly don’t want moonshine or other rough forms of alcohol: they have discerning tastes … and deep pockets to afford the finer things in life.  And fortunately I can supply them … this dock specialises in high end products including fine spirits and wines and I can divert them to my _clients_ in the New World.”

“Why’d you kill Sewell?” asked Gibbs.

“He was nosy … and noisy,” said Lambert.  “Barged in when we were arranging a shipment.  If I’d had more time I would have arranged for a solution with more _finesse_ but, unfortunately, time was at a premium.”

“What are you going to do with us?” asked Gibbs, although he had a pretty good idea already.

“Alas …”

“Seems to be your favourite word,” said Gibbs.

Lambert smiled again: by now, Tim didn’t trust the smile either.  “Alas, I am pressed for time once more.  I think you will both have to come to a watery end.”

“You don’t think you’ll get away with that, do you?” demanded Gibbs.

“Oh, I think so,” said Lambert.  “I slit Sewell’s throat because I was in a hurry … and I admit, was taken by surprise.  And while speed is important here, I have enough time to plan to make your demise be more _ambiguous_ as to cause.”

“Scotland Yard are working with us!” said McGee.  “They’ll be suspicious.”

“Of course they will,” said Lambert affably.  “But suspicion won’t help you.  And we’re closing down this operation and I’m leaving the country so _ambiguity_ serves me well at the moment.  England was profitable for a time but I think France will serve me better.”

“We’re working with an Inspector,” said Gibbs.

“Ah, the wonderful _PD_ ,” said Lambert.  “Oh, I don’t think he’s going to join the dots.  He doesn’t seem to be the most _serious_ policeman around … or the brightest.  And, in any case, he’s on his way out.  Yours is going to be the last case he works.”

Gibbs frowned as he remembered those whispered words from Deputy Commissioner James as he assigned the case to DiNozzo, “Shouldn’t take too long, PD.  I know you’re winding down.”

“So, don’t expect any help from that quarter,” said Lambert with false concern, “Although I’m sure he’s been a perfect gentleman to you.”

McGee and Gibbs exchanged concerned looks although they each, in different ways, continued to hope.

“Tie them up,” said Lambert to his two henchmen.  “And don’t try anything,” he ordered Gibbs as he drew a pistol from his pocket.

McGee and Gibbs submitted meekly enough to being tied up.  They knew they might be going to die but saw no point in bringing the moment forward unnecessarily.

“We load boats from these areas,” said Lambert.  “And this loading area is very flexible …”

“Your favourite word,” commented McGee.

“Oh, well done,” said Lambert, “It’s always good to know that people are listening to what I say.  As I was saying, this particular loading area is very flexible.  The floor can be raised or lowered according to what the tide is doing, saves a lot of time because we don’t have to wait for the tide to be favourable.”

“Yes?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes.  So we’re just going to leave you on the edge … tied up of course, and lower the floor.  The tide’s coming in, so you’ll soon be completely submerged.  And then we’ll come back later, when the tide has gone out again, untie you and let you drift away.  Who knows when your bodies will be found?”

Lambert nodded once more to other men who dragged Gibbs and McGee to the far side of the room and tied them each to a stout metal hoop embedded in the floor.  They then hauled on a rope which lifted the metal fence up and exposed the room to the outside.

“Down we go!” said Lambert jovially as he turned the handle which operated the mechanism to lower the floor.  “It’s cold, but it won’t be a problem for long.  The tide is rising fast.”

“Let us go!” demanded Gibbs struggling against his ropes.

“Now, now,” said Lambert, “You don’t really think that will work, do you?  I would stay and watch but I’ve got things to do.  You two have been quite a nuisance, you know!”

With that, Lambert and the other two men left the room, making sure to lock the door as they left.

“Er, Boss,” said McGee tentatively, “What do we do now?”

XXXXXX

Tony walked along the Hermitage Basin, half expecting to see Gibbs emerge mysteriously from the shadows and berate him for not waiting for him.  So far, however, Gibbs hadn’t appeared and Tony continued to walk along the water’s edge until something caught his attention in the water below.  He bent down and focused his torch on the object and then sighed as he realised it was just a piece of paper.  Tony was about to walk on when he turned to look again and saw that the paper had a picture of St Paul’s Cathedral on it.  As he watched, another piece of paper floated past and he saw that this one had a street map on it,

“Looks like a guidebook,” he muttered and then, “McGee!  He had a guidebook with him all the time!”

Tony lowered himself to the ground and leaned over the dock, “Gibbs!  McGee!  You there?”

“We’re here!” came Gibbs’ determinedly calm voice.

“I’ll come get you!” said Tony.

“You’ll have to be quick,” said Tim.  “We’re nearly under water!”

Tony stretched over as far as he could to try and catch sight of the Americans.  “Where are you?  Can you see my torch?”

“We see your flashlight,” said Gibbs.  “A few yards to the left of us.”

Tony ran down a few yards and then lowered himself down again.  “Do you know where you are?” he asked, “I’ll go and see if I can get through to you.”

“Too late,” gasped Gibbs, “You won’t find us in time.”

“Damn!” said Tony.  He stood up and took his police whistle out of his pocket and blew 3 long blasts on it before shrugging off his overcoat and jumping into the water.

Fortunately, there was a cloudless sky and a full moon which gave enough light that Tony could just make out the faces of Gibbs and McGee.

“Ropes or chains?” he asked.

“Ropes,” said Gibbs.

“McGee?” Tony said to Gibbs, assuming he should tackle McGee first.

“Gibbs,” said McGee firmly, “He’s lower down in the water than me.”

Tony wasted no time in argument but took a knife from his belt.  “Excuse me, Gibbs,” he said as he put a hand on Gibbs’ shoulder and used it to trace down and around his body until he found Gibbs’ elbow and then ducked down under water to try and cut the ropes.  Gibbs was almost grateful that the cold water had numbed his arms as he suspected that Tony was cutting into his flesh as well as the ropes.  Tony had to surface and then dive down again three times before he finally got Gibbs arms free.  He surged to the top and gasped,

“Can you do your feet?  I need to get to McGee.”

“Go!” ordered Gibbs.  “I can do the rest.”

Tony nodded and swam the short distance to McGee who was beginning to be overwhelmed by the rising water. 

“Good to see you, McGee,” he said conversationally, “Don’t worry, you’ll be out of here soon.”

McGee tried to nod without putting his mouth under water but Tony had already dived down and was beginning to cut at the knots.  It took Tony four more dives before Tim’s hands were free; as he gasped for breath before diving down once more to get to Tim’s feet, Gibbs swam up and tapped him on the shoulder,

“I’ll do it,” he said.

Tony coughed, “I’ll be down in a minute.  Just need to catch my breath!”

Gibbs was quick, however, and got Tim’s feet free after two dives and before Tony had stopped coughing.  As all three began to swim to the dockside ladder, they heard the sound of pounding feet on the dock above and the welcome sound of,

“Police!  Police!”

Almost at the same time, Gibbs heard a boat approaching and recognised it as the police launch on which he and Tony had made their trip to St Katharine’s Dock a few days before.  As he looked harder he recognised Percy Winston leaning over the side with a boathook in his hand.

“Anyone need a ride?” asked Percy.

Gibbs grunted and pushed McGee to be taken on board first.  He then looked around for Tony and shoved him forwards and watched him being hoisted into the boat.  Finally, he made his own way on board, grateful for Percy’s steadying hand.  He lay gasping for a few moments and then sat up to see how the others were doing.

“What’s going on?” he asked when he saw Tony apparently unconscious on the deck with Winston looking concerned.

“Hey!” roared Winston to the police officer in the cabin, “Get us to St Thomas’s!  Now!  PD’s in trouble!”

                                                                                                                                                                                     

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Wait!” came a cry from the dockside.  Gibbs looked in the direction of the sound and saw PC Palmer waving frantically.

“It’s Jimmy,” said Winston and he gestured to the pilot to hold off for a moment.

“What happened?” asked Jimmy as he jumped aboard.

“Looks like PD’s been swimming,” said Winston laconically.

Jimmy bent over Tony and then stood to call to one of the constables still on the dockside.  “Get on the phone!  Call Dr Pitt at St Thomas’s!  Tell him we’re on the way with PD!  Get an ambulance to wait at Westminster Bridge for us!”

The constable nodded and run off to find a phone box. 

“Let’s go,” said Jimmy to Winston.  Percy once again directed the pilot and then turned to Jimmy,

“What should we do?” he asked.

“Help me to get him to sit up.  He’ll breathe better that way.  And get some blankets, we need to warm him up,” ordered Jimmy.  He looked at McGee and Gibbs, “And you two, you need to get warm too.”

“We’re fine,” said Gibbs but Tim accepted the blanket another member of the crew offered him.  “What’s the matter with him?” he gestured to Tony.

“Water doesn’t agree with him,” said Jimmy.  He was patting Tony’s face trying to get him to wake up but with no luck.

“How come you all turned up?” asked McGee.

“When Gibbs didn’t show at the Cross Keys, Tony called in and ordered that everyone available should come to the docks,” said Jimmy.

“Ordered the launch in as well,” said Percy.

“He came on ahead to see what was going on,” said Jimmy, “Something must have happened to make him decide to go it alone.”

“He found us,” said Gibbs.

“We were about to drown,” explained McGee.

“Why’d you let him dive in if water’s bad for him?” asked Gibbs.

“We weren’t here,” said Percy with a hint of irritation, “It was him blowing on his whistle that told us that something was going down.  We followed the sound of the blasts.”

Gibbs nodded abstractedly as he listened to the account of Tony’s preparedness and continued to watch Jimmy take care of Tony.  It didn’t take long for the launch to reach the Bridge where they could see an ambulance waiting.

“Winston,” said Gibbs, “We need to go back out on to the river.  Lambert, our murderer, is likely to be there somewhere with a huge cargo of wines and spirits.”

“Gibbs,” said Jimmy, “You need to come to the hospital too.  You and Tim are both cold and the Thames isn’t the healthiest river to go swimming in.”

Gibbs was about to argue but noticed that Percy and his crew were gathering menacingly and somehow he thought he wouldn’t be allowed to stay on board.

“OK,” he said sulkily, “But you need to get out there and search for him!”

Winston gave him a measuring look and then nodded.

XXXXXX

Somehow Gibbs wasn’t surprised to find Ducky also waiting at St Thomas’s Hospital.

“Come,” he said, “Bradyn is waiting.  How is he, Jimmy?”

“He hasn’t regained consciousness,” said jimmy, “And his breathing is laboured.  I don’t think he swallowed any water … or not much, anyway.  We kept him sitting up as much as possible.”

“Good work,” praised Ducky, “Now let us get our patient to the respiratory ward.  Gibbs, McGee: you should come too.  We need to get you checked out as well.”

Ducky strode off with his entourage in his wake like ducklings.  When they arrive at the ward, Gibbs and McGee saw a handsome doctor awaiting them.

“I thought he’d learned his lesson,” said the doctor to Ducky as he took a stethoscope out to listen to Tony’s breathing.

“You know Anthony,” said Ducky with resignation.  “What do you think, Bradyn?”

“We need to get him out of these wet clothes and warm and dry.  I’ve got an oxygen tent waiting.  We need to give him as much help with breathing as possible,” replied Bradyn.  “And that goes for you two as well,” he added when he spotted Gibbs and McGee still leaving puddles on the floor.  “Although we’ll do without the oxygen tent for the moment.”  He grinned and extended his hand, “Bradyn Pitt.  I’m the consultant in respiratory diseases here.”

“Pitt,” acknowledged Gibbs.  “Is he going to be OK?”

“I don’t make hasty diagnoses,” said Pitt, “I’ve learned it’s better to be cautious.  Tony’s in good hands now …”

“Jimmy was on the launch with him,” said Ducky.

“That will have helped.  Good work, Palmer,” said Pitt.

Jimmy blushed, “Thank you, Dr Pitt.”

“Now,” said Dr Pitt, “I’m going to get to work.  I suggest you two get changed.  Nurse Wilcox will find you some hospital pyjamas and something warm to drink.”

“I will telephone to PC Jenks and ask him to go to your boarding house and bring you some dry clothing,” said Ducky.  “But,” he said sternly, “It may take some time.”

Gibbs suspected that Ducky might make sure it took time as he seemed determined to make sure that he and McGee received medical attention.  In other circumstances he might have protested but he still had a headache from the blow to his head and was feeling cold so decided to wait for a more opportune time to make his escape.

XXXXXX

Sometime later, as they waited for news about Tony, Ducky became concerned about McGee.

“Timothy,” he asked, “Are you quite well?”

“I’m fine, Ducky,” said McGee in surprise.

“It is most unwise to conceal any medical condition, my boy.  If you are feeling unwell, I urge you to share your symptoms with me,” continued Ducky.

“I’m fine, Ducky.  Really.”

Ducky peered at McGee distrustfully, “You look as if you might be running a fever.  Your eyes are very bright.”  He put the back of his hand on McGee’s forehead to check his temperature.  “Hmm, your temperature seems to be normal.  In fact, you are still a little chilled.  How strange.”

Tim cast a furtive look at Gibbs who appeared to be dozing in the corner of the room, “Actually, Ducky … there is something.”

“Yes, Timothy?”

“It’s odd.”

“Yes, Timothy?  You need not be anxious about sharing your concerns with me,” said Ducky.

“Well, it was … exciting.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The rescue.  Even the being captured, it was exhilarating,” said Tim.  “I mean; I was scared … very scared but it was exciting at the same time.”

“Ah,” said Ducky, “I understand.”

“You do?”

“Indeed.  It is nothing to be concerned about I assure you.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” smiled Ducky.  Somehow he thought that Timothy would no longer be content to be an office bound researcher.  A new part of McGee had been unleashed and Ducky wondered if the Office of Naval Intelligence let its civilian employees be investigators in the field.

Shortly after this, Dr Pitt returned.

“Tony’s temperature is elevated,” he said, “And he seems rather feverish but I think the oxygen tent is helping and he is breathing better.  I think he will be all right with a couple of days’ rest.”

“May we see him?” asked Ducky.

“If you keep him calm.  He is awake now and I think seeing Mr Gibbs and Mr McGee might help reassure him,” said Pitt.  “Come this way.”

Dr Pitt led them to a dimly lit room where they could just about see Tony propped up beneath a small tent made of a rubberised material.

“Tony,” said Pitt gently, “You’ve got some visitors.”

Tony opened his eyes and saw Gibbs and McGee standing by his bedside in their hospital issued pyjamas.

“That’s a good look on you,” he gasped, “Although you look like you’ve just escaped from the Scrubs.”

“Scrubs?” asked McGee.

“Wormwood Scrubs,” said Gibbs, “It’s a prison.”  He seemed to sense his companions’ surprise, “Hey, I know stuff too,” he said.

“You two all right?” asked Tony.

“We’re fine,” McGee.  “How are you?”

Tony shrugged and pointed to the tent, “Getting there,” he said.  “That was good work with the guidebook, Tim.”

“Oh,” said Tim.

“What?” asked Tony as he sensed some embarrassment.

“It was accidental.  Sort of,” confessed McGee.

“How?” asked Tony.

“When I was on my own.  Before Gibbs found me, I thought about lighting a fire.  I tore the pages out of the book but before I could start … well, Gibbs _arrived._   I stuffed the pages into my coat pocket ‘cos I didn’t want Lambert and the others to take them away.”

“Sounds good,” said Tony.

“And then, when we were put into the water, one of the pages fell out and floated away.  And I thought it might be a way of making a signal … and I realised that I could just about reach my pocket with my teeth and I pulled some more out … pages, not teeth.”

“Guessed that,” said Tony.

“So I carried on as long as I could.  And Gibbs tried to move to create waves to push them away,” said Tim.

“Good thing you did,” said Tony, “Might not have seen you otherwise.”

“It was just luck,” said McGee modestly.

“Sometimes you need luck to solve a case,” said Gibbs.  “And you used what was at hand, that’s good, McGee.”

“In fact,” said Ducky a little severely, “I would say that there has been a lot of good luck involved in the solving of this crime.  If Lambert had not been so determined to prevent anyone picking up any clues, well, I think the case would still be unresolved.”

Gibbs shrugged.  “We made the most of what we had,” he said.

Tony coughed, “And I’m not sure all the luck was good,” he said plaintively.

“Indeed,” said Ducky, “You have a point.  And I think Bradyn wants us to retire …”

“Can’t trust what _he_ tells you,” said Tony.

“You certainly bear a grudge, don’t you,” said Dr Pitt with a smile.

“What?” asked McGee, suddenly alarmed about the doctor’s capability.

“He breaks people’s legs,” said Tony with relish.

“What?” said McGee again.

Dr Pitt sighed; Gibbs and McGee got the impression this was a well-worn conversation between Tony and Pitt.

“Rugby,” said Pitt, “Cardiff University against Cambridge University.  PD here ran straight when anyone with an ounce of sense would have swerved …”

“Ran straight?” asked McGee.

“Into me,” said Pitt.  “And our prop, Owen Rees.  22 stone, he was.  Man, he was a sight to behold.  Took a while to get going but once he was running … well, he was difficult to stop.  But PD managed that day … or rather, his leg did and it came off worst.”

“Don’t remind me, Brad,” winced Tony, “And who’d have thought you’d end up being my doctor in London?  Wasn’t it enough to half kill me once?”

“Now, now, Anthony,” said Ducky reprovingly, “You know that Bradyn is an excellent physician … and you have much to be grateful for.  Why, I remember …” he peered a little more closely at the patient and smiled with satisfaction, “Excellent, he has dropped off to sleep.  Come along, gentlemen.”

Once again, the others assembled behind Ducky and allowed him to lead them back to the waiting area.  McGee’s adrenalin rush finally dissipated and it was his turn to fall asleep on one of the uncomfortable chairs.

“So,” said Gibbs to Ducky, “Was he gassed?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“DiNozzo.  In the trenches … his _two_ months in the trenches … was he gassed?”

“Yes,” said Ducky.

“Should’ve guessed.”

“Indeed?”

“His office is the only one that doesn’t smell of smoke,” observed Gibbs.  “And he didn’t want to meet me in the tap room of that pub,” he decided not to mention the time that Tony showed up at the pub as Gibbs began to drink himself into a stupor.  Gibbs wondered if Tony had taken him away partly to avoid staying in the smoky room.

“Yes,” said Ducky, “I have observed that a _clean_ environment is better for Anthony’s lungs.  Unfortunately, we cannot always regulate the atmosphere in which he finds himself.  It has led to a number of problems … although hopefully we have hit upon a solution.”

“Mustard gas?” asked Gibbs.

“No, fortunately or not, Anthony was exposed to chlorine-phosgene.  And before that, from what I can ascertain, he was extremely fit.  Most of the time he is quite well but he is always susceptible to respiratory problems.”

“Lambert said that DiNozzo was on his way out.  And I heard the Deputy Commissioner mention something about DiNozzo winding down.  That sounds to me like he’s quitting … unless _winding_ down has a different meaning in British English to American English.  So, what’ going on?”

“I don’t believe that is my story to tell,” said Ducky primly, “And,” he added hastily to prevent further discussion, “I think you should take Timothy back to your lodgings.  The excitement has finally caught up with him.  You can speak with Anthony tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there’s just one chapter to go in which loose ends can be tied up …


	8. Chapter 8

Ducky ended up taking Gibbs and McGee back to their boarding house.  McGee was too sleepy to mind being in the back of Ducky’s Morgan or to take notice of the doctor’s aggressive driving skill which he had commented on before.

“Go on in, McGee,” ordered Gibbs when Ducky arrived at their destination.  “I’ll ask Dr Mallard to take me to the Yard.  I want to check if they’ve found Lambert.”

“I can go too,” said McGee dutifully.

“No, I can manage,” said Gibbs and then, with a rare softness, “Go on, Tim.  You did good today but you can stand down now.”

“OK,” said McGee realising that he was indeed beat.  “I’ll see you later.  Thank you for the ride, Dr Mallard … I mean, Ducky … er, Dr Ducky.”

“You are most welcome, Timothy,” said Ducky kindly.  “If I may make a suggestion, have a warm bath before you retire.  You will find that will warm you up nicely.”

It seemed that Tim was too weary even to answer so he barely lifted a hand in acknowledgement and lurched his way into the hotel.

“I wouldn’t advise you returning to work, Gibbs,” said Ducky.  “You have also had a trying day.”

“You British sure have a gift for understatement,” said Gibbs.

“Actually, I am Scottish,” said Ducky precisely.

“Then I guess the Scottish do too,” said Gibbs.

“Nevertheless …” began Ducky.

“Save your breath, Doctor,” said Gibbs, “If you don’t give me a ride then I’ll get there anyway.”

“If the British, and the Scottish, have a talent for understatement then I would have to observe that the Americans have a gift for bull-headed stubbornness,” said Ducky.

Gibbs shrugged, “So, you gonna drive me or not?”

“Very well,” sighed Ducky, “Against my better judgement.”

“Not asking for your judgement,” said Gibbs, “Just your driving.”

For answer, Ducky released the handbrake and drove off.  A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of Scotland Yard.  Gibbs made to jump out but Ducky put a hand on his arm to prevent him,

“Anthony told me about your … shellshock,” he said.

“Yeah?  What about it?”

“I understand your not wanting to talk about it but I think, as Anthony indicated to you, there have been medical advances and you might find it beneficial to seek advice.”

“Thanks, Doc, but no thanks,” said Gibbs.

Ducky retained his hold on Gibbs’ arm and coughed deprecatingly, “I do understand your reticence to speak about it, Gibbs.”

“You do?” asked Gibbs sceptically.

Ducky laughed, “Yes, it seems unlikely that someone like me who undoubtedly likes to hear myself speak would be able to sympathise with someone who does not share that penchant for volubility.”

“Huh?”

“What I mean to say is that while I like to think out loud I do understand that sometimes people prefer not to verbalise their inner thoughts.”

“Doc, I may not be falling asleep on my feet like McGee, but I am kinda tired here … which is probably why I’m not following you.”

“I apologise.  I know what it is to try and bury something troubling.”

“You do?”

“Indeed.”  Ducky coughed once more and then seemed to steel himself to speak, “As you know, I was a doctor during the war.  The sights I saw there … well, I had never before witnessed such suffering: I hope I never have to again.  I have never felt so useless or helpless; at times there seemed to be nothing I could to alleviate the pain and distress that attended my daily work.  When the war ended I considered not returning to my medical career – I felt drained of all energy and of the compassion which I always felt was an integral part of my profession.”

“But you did return to it?” said Gibbs.

“Yes, I did.  Not immediately, but after a few months.  But I felt unable to deal with living patients and so I accepted a job as pathologist.  I believed that the only way in which I could use my medical skills was by trying to establish how people had died.  I felt unable to face a living patient.”

“Makes sense,” said Gibbs.

“It was not an easy path,” said Ducky, “I had not realised how bloodily people can still die even in a country at peace.  But I found that I came to enjoy the _puzzle_ of working out how someone had met their end.  Why, I even found myself talking to the corpses as if they were still alive and I think that was something of a breakthrough for me.  And I also found that talking to other doctors who had served in the war was helpful …”

“Hmm,” said Gibbs who was not convinced.

“I realised,” continued Ducky, “That although I habitually talked a lot, I rarely spoke of anything from … within, if you will.  I talked of facts, of theories, I talked to instruct and to inform but I didn’t actually share anything of how I felt.  It was only when I began to do so that I found that the burden of my memories became less … I still regret that I was able to do so little but I have learned to live with that knowledge.  And perhaps, Gibbs …”

“My friends call me Jethro,” said Gibbs a little awkwardly.

“And perhaps, _Jethro_ , you may find the same.  You do not have to be alone in your suffering.  I don’t have many rules but one of them has come to be _don’t suffer in silence_.”

“I’ll think about it,” promised Gibbs.

“That is all I ask,” said Ducky, “And I could probably give you the names of physicians in America who are doing research into shellshock.  They may be able to help you … and even if they are not, what they learn from you may serve to help them in their research and assist other sufferers.”

“Thanks,” said Gibbs.  “Remember I told you about my buddy – at Belleau Wood?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You saved his leg, and his life.”

“I remember you telling me.”

“He teaches grade school now.  He’s making a difference to the lives of the young people he teaches.  He wouldn’t be doing that if it wasn’t for you.  I reckon you need to remember the people you helped; don’t just focus on the men you couldn’t save.  You were there for hundreds of men … I saw you with my friend, how you were with the others too.  I think I’d have been glad to have you as my doctor even if you couldn’t save me, Ducky.”

Ducky smiled a watery smile, “Thank you, Jethro, that means a lot.  And I can tell you from personal experience that there is a way through bad memories and trauma.  Unlikely as it seems, being a pathologist has, I believe, assisted my own recovery although it was some time before I acknowledged that I was in need of recovery.  And now I feel ready to move on.”

“Move on?”

“Yes, and I think I have Anthony … and Jimmy to thank for some of that.”

“Jimmy?  _Palmer?_ ”

“Certainly.  Jimmy was always very interested in my medical findings and I finally discovered that, at one point, he had wanted to be a doctor but the cost of studying was beyond his means.  I found his questions and enthusiasm somehow re-ignited my interest in medicine and I became more interested in new advances.  As a result, I decided it was time to use my expertise in another way.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.  I am joining the teaching staff at St Thomas’s Hospital at the beginning of the next academic year.  I am looking forward to the new challenge.”

“Jimmy’ll miss you,” said Gibbs.

“Well, no,” said Ducky, “He is going to start his medical training at the same time.  I have … er … managed to make some financial arrangements to enable him to achieve his ambition.”

Gibbs nodded, pretty sure that the financial arrangements were that Ducky would pay for Jimmy’s studies.  “Scotland Yard is going to be missing a few people,” he observed.

“Yes,” sighed Ducky, “The old order is changing.  Not, of course, that I regard _myself_ as old and Jimmy certainly is not.”

“And how did _Anthony_ help with your revelation?” asked Gibbs.

“Ah,” said Ducky thoughtfully, “Simply by being himself, I suppose.  But I mustn’t keep you from your labours … be sure to get medical advice should you feel any untoward symptoms from your _alarums and excursions.”_

“My what and what?”

“Alarums and excursions … Richard lll Act 5 scene 4.  Shakespeare,” replied Ducky.  “Cheerio!”

XXXXXX

“Thanks for doing this,” said Tony a few days later as he sat in the passenger seat of his Austin 7 next to Gibbs.  “Although you do remember that we drive on the left in this country?”

Gibbs shrugged, “Your roads are so narrow it doesn’t really make a difference.”

Tony shuddered, “Jane won’t understand that.”

“Jane?”

“Jane, the car.  You know, Jane Austen … the English novelist.  And I know, she was Austen with an E and the car is Austin with an I … but who cares?”

“Not me,” said Gibbs firmly.  “You named your car?”

Tony resolved not to be embarrassed.  “Cars have character, they need names.  And this beauty is a real lady.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Gibbs solemnly as he took Jane around a sharp bend.

Tony winced, “Just as well we don’t have to have someone walking in front with a flag,” he commented.

“What?”

“Used to be a law.  _Self-propelled_ vehicles had to be preceded by someone walking waving a red flag to warn people they were on their way.  If we still had it in force, you’d kill your flag bearer every time.”

“How fast did these vehicles go?” asked Gibbs.  “Can’t have been very fast or the guy would have to run rather than walk.”

“Don’t know,” said Tony.  “My grandfather can remember it happening and people used to stand at the side of the road and stare.  Don’t worry, the law was repealed years ago.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Gibbs as he pressed on the accelerator again.

Tony decided to divert his mind from the traumas of Gibbs’ driving.  “I saw Deputy Commissioner James on Friday,” he said.

“Thought you were meant to be out sick,” said Gibbs.

“I was, I am.  I just went in to catch up with some stuff.”

“And?”

“And PC Jenks is way too observant.  He informed on me … and that’s why I saw the Deputy Commissioner and why he told me to leave again,” said Tony sadly.

“But?”

“What makes you think there’s a but?”

“Haven’t known you long, DiNozzo but somehow I think, with you, there’s always a but,” said Gibbs drily.

“But,” said Tony, “He did tell me that Winston and his crew had caught Lambert and his cronies as they got close to Canary Wharf.  Their boat was full of bottles of Scotch whisky and French wines – it was worth a fortune even here … I’m guessing it would be even more valuable in the States.  You don’t look pleased, Gibbs?”

“It was good work,” allowed Gibbs, “But now there’s all this arguing about where he gets tried.”

“He killed Bernard Sewell here,” Tony pointed out.  “And kidnapped two other people.”

“Two _US_ citizens,” said Gibbs, “And he killed someone in America.”

“He was smuggling out of this country,” countered Tony.

“And suspected of spying in America,” said Gibbs.

“That turned out not to be true,” said Tony.

“But he was smuggling into the US.  Smuggling alcohol … that’s against the American Constitution.”

Tony seemed less than impressed by this argument.  “We’ll just have to leave it to the higher ups to sort out,” he said philosophically.

“We can’t go home until it’s sorted out,” said Gibbs.

“You’re welcome any time,” said Tony hospitably.  “And look on the bright side, it gives you a chance to see more of the country.”  He stole a look at Gibbs’ face and decided this wasn’t a big incentive for Gibbs.  “Tim is delighted,” continued Tony, “Especially since I got him that new guide book.”

“Did you have to get him one for the whole of England?” groused Gibbs.  “I’ll never get him on board the ship home.”

“To be fair, I think you’ll struggle with that anyway,” said Tony practically.  “And it could have been worse.”

“How?”

“I could have got him one that had Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland in as well.”

“Well …” said Gibbs.

“And the Channel Islands,” added Tony.

“OK, I surrender!” conceded Gibbs.

“Gibbs!” yelled Tony, “Keep your hands on the steering wheel for goodness sake!” 

Gibbs grinned evilly as he returned the hands he had lifted in a gesture of surrender to the steering wheel.

“And,” said Tony a little more calmly as his heart rate returned to normal, “It means I can show you some of Oxfordshire.  Bradyn and Ducky wouldn’t let me drive down here on my own.”

Gibbs nodded.  Tony had been kept in hospital for two days before being released under strict instructions to rest at home.  Gibbs wasn’t sure how much resting had been done …

FLASHBACK

“Afternoon, Gibbs … Tim,” said Tony when he opened the door of his flat to the Americans.  “Come in, I was about to make some tea.”

Gibbs and McGee had decided to visit Tony to see how he was doing after being sent home.  Truth to tell, there wasn’t much for them to be doing now that Lambert had been captured.  It turned out that Lambert had a network of informants in London, mostly young lads who were able to hang around and listen out for gossip in places Lambert thought might be useful.  Scotland Yard suspected that he was involved in more than just the smuggling and they were trying to discover the extent of his operations.  Gibbs didn’t know at the time but this made it even more likely that the Metropolitan Police would fight to keep Lambert in the country.

Tony had produced tea and scones for his guests and then, with a sigh, went to get Gibbs some coffee.

“This jelly is delicious,” said Tim as he smothered another scone with butter and jam.

“Jam,” said Tony, “Here we call it jam.  Jelly is something different.  And it’s blackberry and apple.  My aunt’s housekeeper makes it.  In fact, I may even have picked these blackberries.”

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee and looked around Tony’s _apartment_.  “Thought you were meant to be taking it easy,” he commented.

“Pardon?” said Tony.

“Place looks even more packed up than when I was here before,” said Gibbs.

“You were here before?” asked Tim.

“Yes,” said Tony, “You know, that night that Gibbs and I got called in to follow up on a lead.”

Gibbs nodded, grateful that Tony didn’t refer to allowing him to get drunk to avoid being disturbed by the fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day.

“Oh yes,” said McGee.  “What are those?”  He pointed to small square cakes on the table.

“Chelsea Buns,” said Tony, “Try one.  I think you’ll like it.”

Tim needed no further invitation and dived in.

“You’re sure getting a taste for British food,” commented Gibbs.

Tim was learning from his Boss and simply shrugged.

“I got you something, Tim,” said Tony and handed him a parcel.

Tim hastily swallowed the last mouthful of fruity bun and took the package.  He opened it to reveal the _Definitive Guide for Visitors to England_.  “That’s great,” said Tim as he leafed through the pages.  “And it’s got railway timetables as well.  Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” said Tony.  “If it wasn’t for your London book, you and Gibbs might have been found by some mud lark washed up along the Thames.”

“Mud lark?” asked Tim.

“So,” said Gibbs deciding he didn’t want yet another explanation of what he suspected was an historic term, “You’ve been busy since you got out of the hospital?”

“I’ve taken it easy … some of the time,” said Tony.  “I get bored.”

“I can believe that,” said Gibbs.

“And I need to take a trip at the weekend,” said Tony.  “I needed to rest up for that.  In fact, I wondered if you’d both like to come.”

“Where?” asked McGee.

“Netley Green, Oxfordshire,” said Tony.

“Well,” said McGee hesitantly, “I’ve made arrangements to meet up with Henry … you know, my friend at Imperial.  We were going to visit Cambridge … the Fitzwilliam Museum.  But …”

“Don’t worry, Tim,” said Tony.  “You go with Dr Wagstaff.  Gibbs, you want to come?”

“Well …” began Gibbs.

“I wouldn’t ask, but I need someone to drive me.”

Gibbs brightened at the thought of a drive and remembered that perhaps he and McGee both owed Tony something for saving their lives.  “Sure,” he said, “You’ll let me drive your car?”

McGee tried to signal his alarm about this suggestion but Tony seemed to miss the cue.  “Yes,” he said.

“What are we going to do there?” asked Gibbs.

“Well, you’ll meet my aunt … and there’s something I have to do …” said Tony.

END FLASHBACK

And so it had happened that Gibbs had collected Tony from his flat (which was even barer) on the Saturday afternoon to drive him down to Netley Green.  It wasn’t long before, despite his worries about which side of the road Gibbs would drive on, that Tony fell asleep.

Gibbs followed Tony’s earlier directions and enjoyed the drive through the countryside until he pulled the car up in front of an old house built of honey coloured Cotswold stone.  Gibbs nodded approval and nudged Tony awake,

“Hey,” he said, “We’re here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn’t manage to finish it in one chapter after all!


	9. Chapter 9

“What?” asked Tony groggily as he opened his eyes.  “Oh, we’re here!”

“That’s what I said,” said Gibbs.

“Welcome to Netley Green, Gibbs,” said Tony.

“I know where we are, DiNozzo.  I drove us here.”

Tony squinted at the driver, “Been too long since you had coffee, I guess?  Come on, we’ll put that right.”

Tony jumped out of the car and walked up to the front door which opened before he could knock,

“Mr Anthony,” said the middle aged woman who had seen his approach.

“Pondie, how are you?” replied Tony.

“I’m very well, Sir.  It’s you that’s been in the wars from what I hear … again!  I told you that London was a nasty, dangerous place to go live in.”

“I’m fine, Pondie.  Is my aunt in?”

“Yes, Sir.  She’s in her sewing room.  Shall I tell her you’re here?”

“No need.  I’ll go find her.  Oh, this is Mr Gibbs. Gibbs, Mrs Dora Pond.”

Gibbs touched his hat in acknowledgement.

“Yes, Sir.  The American.  Her ladyship mentioned he’d be coming,” said Mrs Pond.  She looked at Gibbs amiably enough but Gibbs suspected she was going straight back to the kitchen to count the spoons.

“I think I had some of your … jam,” said Gibbs, “Blackberry and apple.”  He smiled.

Mrs Pond smiled back and Tony realised that Gibbs was exercising a hitherto unsuspected charm.  “I’ll make sure there’s some for tea, Sir,” she said, “And perhaps some of my lemon curd.”

“This way, Gibbs,” said Tony.  Gibbs sighed as he realised that he was once again allowing Tony to tell him what to do but feeling a slight sense of triumph at making _Pondie_ reconsider her decision to count the spoons.

Tony led the way to a room at the back of the house which overlooked the garden.  A woman who Gibbs guessed to be in her middle fifties was sitting there with some knitting.  She looked up when she saw the visitors,

“Tony,” she said, “Excellent timing, I want to check if this sleeve is the right length.”

Tony stooped to kiss her cheek and then obediently held his arm out for his arm to checked against the knitting.  “What’s this for?” he asked.

“It’s a cricket jumper,” said his aunt.  “I noticed when you played for Netley Green in the summer that your old one was looking a little yellow.”

“You play cricket?” asked Gibbs.

“Sometimes,” hedged Tony.

“He’s an excellent bowler.”

Gibbs dredged his memory about this most English of games, “Let me guess.  You’re a fast bowler.”

“No,” said Tony’s aunt, “He’s a spinner.  Very devious.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” said Gibbs drily.

“Aunt Charlotte,” said Tony, “This is Jethro Gibbs, I told you about him.  Gibbs, my aunt, Lady George Paddington.”

Gibbs wasn’t often stumped but he realised he didn’t know the correct form of address for a _lady_.  “Ma’am,” he settled for, deciding that as an American he couldn’t be expected to know English etiquette.

“Mr Gibbs,” smiled Lady George.  “It’s good to welcome you to Netley Green.  What …”  She was interrupted by the arrival of Mrs Pond with a tea tray.

“I thought you might be in need of something to warm you up after being in Master Tony’s little car,” she announced.

“Mr Gibbs prefers coffee to tea,” warned Tony.

“Hmph.  Well, let him try how _I_ make tea first,” said the housekeeper.  “Then I’ll make him coffee if he wants some.”

Gibbs had fought bravely against some impossible odds in his time as a Marine but in the face of Mrs Pond, he found himself nodding in agreement.  She smiled in grim approval and left the room.

“Goodness,” said Lady George, “Two types of jam _and_ lemon curd.  She must be glad to see you, Tony.”

“Not me,” said Tony in mock hurt, “It’s Gibbs.  He said he liked her jam.”

“Well,” said Lady George peaceably, “It’s a sign of honour.  And she has put a bottle of her cough syrup in your room so she is pleased to see you really.”

Tony’s aunt poured the tea but when she saw how strong it had been made, topped hers and Tony’s up with hot water before passing an undoctored cup to Gibbs.  Tony watched as Gibbs took a sip and got ready to pull the bell to summon the housekeeper back – unnecessarily as he saw Gibbs smile with approval.

“Tony,” said his aunt, “Mr Bostock would like to see you before tomorrow.  I said that you would go down to see him.”

“Fine,” said Tony, sparing a moment from devouring his muffins.  “I’ll go down after tea.”

XXXXXX

Somehow Gibbs wasn’t surprised to find that he was also expected to go visit Mr Bostock but he went willingly enough as he wanted to stretch his legs after the journey down.  Tony pointed out the highlights of Netley Green as they walked,

“There’s Brown’s the butcher,” he said.  “Joyley the baker.  Tunstall’s is the garage.  Anything else we can usually get from Carey’s the grocer.”

“You sure you’re not going into the tourist trade?” asked Gibbs.

“Huh?”

“Always giving directions,” explained Gibbs.

“Oh.  Wasn’t planning on it,” said Tony, “But you never know.  Here’s Bostock,” he added when he saw a clergyman coming towards them on his bicycle.  “Hello, Sir,” he said.

“Tony,” said Bostock, “How nice to see you.  I trust you’re fully recovered?  And this must be your American friend, Mr Gibbs?  Welcome to Netley Green, Mr Gibbs.”

Gibbs shook his hand and decided that crime must be non-existent in Netley Green as the gossip grapevine seemed to be in excellent shape: it seemed unlikely that anything could be kept secret.

“Mr Bostock is our vicar, Gibbs,” said Tony. 

“Indeed,” smiled Bostock, “I have had the honour of being vicar of St Edburga and St Edmund’s for fifteen years.”

Gibbs wasn’t sure how to respond to that so simply nodded.  He suspected that the vicar was used to this as he smiled again, “And we shall see you tomorrow, Tony?” he asked.

“Yes.  I’ll be there,” promised Tony.

“Excellent.  We are dedicating our war memorial tomorrow,” explained Bostock as he turned to Gibbs who noticed that what he had taken to be a permanent smile had disappeared.  “I hope you will come too, Mr Gibbs.  It will remind us of the sacrifice made by our allies.”

Gibbs found himself nodding once more.

“The arrangements are as I previously indicated to you, Tony.  I trust that is satisfactory,” said the vicar.

“Fine,” said Tony.

“Then I will see you tomorrow.  I am on my way to the big house to check with your grandfather about the arrangements.  Farewell.”  Bostock got back on his bicycle and wobbled off.

“Can never decide if he’s more dangerous on a bike than driving a car,” said Tony thoughtfully as he watched his precarious progress.

Gibbs followed Tony’s gaze and found that he was equally doubtful.  “Where’s the big house?” he asked.

“About a mile out of the village,” said Tony, “He should be safe.  Now, do you want a drink before we go back for dinner?  Barthorp keeps an excellent bitter,” he pointed to the Woolpack Inn across the road from St Edburga’s and St Edmund’s.

“Thought you didn’t like smoky places,” said Gibbs.

“It’ll be empty at this time,” said Tony confidently, “We’ll be fine.”

Gibbs found himself, yet again, following behind.

“So, I’ll be meeting your grandfather tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes, the Earl of Netley.  Lord Netley.  I think you’ll like him.”

“You do?”

“Yes, he doesn’t talk much either.  You’ll get on fine!”

XXXXXX

Gibbs hadn’t known Tony long but he had always seemed to be naturally cheerful and easy-going but there was a different atmosphere as he stood with him at the village memorial at 10.45 the next morning.  Lady George was dressed in black and stood next to Tony with her arm through his.

It was a bright but cold day but that hadn’t stopped what looked like the whole village turning out for the occasion.  With ten minutes to go to the hour, Mr Bostock arrived with an elderly gentleman who looked so like Tony that Gibbs had to guess that it was Lord Netley.

“Friends,” said Mr Bostock, “Today, on the 11th of November, the day when the guns finally fell silent, we gather to dedicate this memorial which bears the names of so many of our friends and loved ones.  Lord Netley will read the names aloud.  I shall say a prayer of dedication and then we will keep our two minutes of silence.  Lord Netley …”

The Earl looked around the crowd and said, in a surprisingly strong voice, “We remember: Charles Adams, Walter Barthrop, Thomas Bostock, Cecil Brown, William Brown, Timothy Carey, Henry Edwards, John Joyley, Andrew Paddington, George Paddington …” the Earl’s voice faltered slightly but then resumed as strongly as before, “Donald Pond, Gordon Pond …”

The voice continued as Gibbs realised with some shock that he already recognised most of the names from people he had met or places he had seen in the village and he glimpsed the impact the war had had on this small community.  He was brought back to the present when the crowd said _Amen_ together.

“Corporal Edwards will now sound the Last Post,” said Bostock, “And we will keep our two minutes of silence.  We remember those we lost and the impact of war on those who are left behind.”

The church clock struck eleven and as the last chime faded the Last Post was sounded.  Gibbs stood erect as he allowed himself to remember the brothers-in-arms he had lost.  He vaguely noticed that Lady George’s hand tightened on Tony’s arm and that there was a collective intake of breath as silence fell.  Gibbs jumped when Edwards began to play Reveille to end the silence.

“We will walk to the church,” announced Bostock, “To continue our dedication.”

The vicar and the Earl led the way and people fell in behind them but Gibbs noticed that, as they waked past the memorial, some of them touched the spot where a loved one’s name was carved.  As he walked, Lady George said, “May I go with you, Mr Gibbs?”

Gibbs nodded in surprise that Tony had disappeared and held out his arm for Lady George to take.  The organ was playing some gentle music as they entered the church and people found their accustomed places in the pews.  Gibbs let his attention wander as he gazed at the inside of the church with its graceful arches and faded wall paintings.  Somehow, Gibbs thought it was probably some sort of architectural jewel but it was the calm atmosphere born from centuries of being a place of refuge and hope that he found stilling his soul.  He came to himself when a hymn was announced and Lady George pointed to the place in the hymn book,

“ _I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,_

_Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love …”_

 

Something welled up in Gibbs as he listened to the words, a mixture of pride and sorrow, regret and fulfilment and once again his attention wandered until he heard the final line of the hymn which spoke of another country,

_“… and her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace.”_

The vicar pronounced the blessing and people began to disperse as the organ played gently once more.  Lady George remained in her pew and Gibbs sat with her.  The organ music stopped and shortly afterwards, Tony appeared.

“You did well, darling,” said his aunt.

“That was you?” asked Gibbs.  “Of course it was, you said that you play piano.”

“Come and meet my grandfather,” said Tony, “He wants to meet you.”

The meeting didn’t take long.  As Tony had suggested, the Earl was a man of few words and he had used a lot of them that morning already.

“Gibbs,” said the Earl.

“Sir,” replied Gibbs.

“Good to see you here today,” said Lord Netley gruffly, “We owe you and your countrymen a debt of gratitude.”

“Your grandson saved my life,” said Gibbs, “And that of another young man.  We owe your family a debt of gratitude too.”

“Tony has a habit of trying to save people,” said the Earl, “But thank you for saying it.  Come up to the house later, I’ve got some port you might enjoy.”

“You trying to take my place?” demanded Tony as his grandfather walked away.

“What?” asked Gibbs in bewilderment.

“First Pondie … now Grandfather … he never offers his port to a stranger,” said Tony.

“Guess you’ve either got it or you haven’t,” said Gibbs smugly.

“Huh,” said Tony.  “I’m going to walk back with Pondie and Aunt Lottie.  You coming?”

“No,” said Gibbs, “I’ll stay here a while.”

Tony nodded and went back to the church to collect the women.

Left alone, Gibbs stood in front of the memorial and counted the names: twenty-three from this small settlement.  So much sorrow and yet the place was peaceful, so peaceful that it was almost impossible to imagine that there could be places of such war and destruction … and noise.  For the first time in many years, Gibbs fancied that he could no longer hear the guns which had been an internal accompaniment to his life since he left France.  The recovery Ducky had spoken of now seemed a possibility.

Sometime later, his reverie was interrupted,

“Andrew Paddington was my cousin,” said Tony, “… and you know who George Paddington was.  Donald Pond was Dora’s husband; Gordon was their son.  I knew everyone listed on the memorial – they’re part of my history, part of our history.  How can we ever be worthy of what they did?”

“That what you’re trying to do?” asked Gibbs.  “Be good enough?  Try to save people?”

“Possibly,” said Tony.  “But it’s part of who I am.  _Ab honesto virum bonum nihil deterret.”_

“What?”

“It’s our family motto.  The Paddington motto: _Nothing deters a good man from doing what honour requires of him_.  My grandfather, and Uncle George, believed in that.  They knew they were privileged but believed that with privilege comes duty.  They brought Andrew and me up to believe in it too.”

“That why you became a policeman?” asked Gibbs.

“Not sure,” said Tony. “I read natural sciences at Cambridge and originally I’d thought about perhaps being a teacher but the war got in the way of that.”

“Ducky said you were an aide de camp,” said Gibbs.

“Do you ever forget anything?” asked Tony.

“Nope,” said Gibbs.

“Ducky’s right.  I was in the trenches for a few weeks before being gassed.  They would have discharged me but … “

“But you couldn’t leave your men behind,” supplied Gibbs.

“Something like that.  I wasn’t fit enough to fight but I could try and make things work behind the lines,” said Tony.

“I don’t usually apologise,” said Gibbs, “But I’ll make an exception.  I apologise.”

“What for?”

“Suggesting that you were just a gopher.”

“How do you know I wasn’t?” asked Tony cautiously.

“I recognise the medals,” said Gibbs, as he looked at Tony’s chest, “You don’t get the Military Cross for being a gopher.”

Tony shrugged, “When I came out of the army I couldn’t go back to my plan, my old life.  I needed to do something … something which fixed wrongs.”

“Carrying on what you did in the war?” suggested Gibbs.

Tony directed a sharp look at Gibbs, “I’m not so naïve as to think that everything we did in the war was on the side of right, Gibbs.  I hope I’m not being naïve when I hope that the world remembers the pain we went through and doesn’t tear itself apart again … but I do continue to hope.  And to believe that I can make a difference.  That the world can be a better place.”

“But you’re leaving,” said Gibbs.  “To do what?  Come back here?  Will this be yours one day?”

Tony laughed, “No.  The title doesn’t pass through the female line.  Grandfather has lost both his children so the title will go to his brother Clive or Clive’s children and the estate will go with the title.”

“Then what?  What are you going to do?” asked Gibbs.

“I have to move out of London,” said Tony, “I get sick every winter … it hasn’t been too bad so far this year … the fogs haven’t got going yet but they will.  I’ll miss London but it’ll kill me if I stay.”

“Come to the US,” said Gibbs suddenly.

“What?”

“Office of Naval Intelligence is always looking for people,” said Gibbs, “You’re half American.  You could find somewhere healthy to live there.”

“Really?” said Tony, “You’d put in a good word for me?”

“Sure,” said Gibbs, “I could make something of you.  You shouldn’t waste good, you know.”

“Thank you, Gibbs,” said Tony.  “You surprise me.  Hey, this isn’t a way of making sure that you get to take Lambert back with you, is it?”

“Would it help?” asked Gibbs half joking.  “No, that’s not the reason.  I think we could work together.  Although you’d have to learn to stop telling me what to do.”

“Thanks, Gibbs,” said Tony.  “But I have a job to go to.  And I think that my British side is stronger than my American side.  And if you ever met my father, you’d understand why.”

“If you change your mind …” said Gibbs.  “And another thing, why did you bring me down here?  Was it more of you trying to _fix_ things?”

“I told you,” said Tony, “Ducky and Bradyn wouldn’t let me drive down by myself.”

“Ducky would have come,” said Gibbs.

“No, he couldn’t.  He had a reunion with his RAMC doctors this weekend.”

“Or Jimmy …”

“Nope, on duty.”

“You could have come by train,” said Gibbs.

“All right,” said Tony, “I admit that I wanted to bring you down.”

“Why?”

“You said it yourself.  I try to fix people.”

“You think I need fixing?”

Tony looked at him sternly, “You trying to deny it, Gibbs?”

“I guess not,” said Gibbs.

“Netley Green is a healing place,” said Tony.  “And I got the impression that you’ve been trying to cope by shutting things out.  I thought that coming to the dedication, turning to face the past … knowing that other people have suffered … are suffering … might help.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.

“Was I right?”

“Possibly,” conceded Gibbs.  “Ok, probably.  You’re right, there’s something about the place … can’t explain what … but it’s tranquil.  And I haven’t done tranquil for a long time.”

“Good,” said Tony.

“So where’s the new job?” asked Gibbs.

“Oh,” said Tony, “Plymouth … in Devon.  I’m transferring to the Plymouth City Police as a Chief Inspector.  Ducky thinks the air will be better for me down there and I’m going to live in Saltash, just across the river Tamar.”

“Plymouth,” said Gibbs thoughtfully, “Don’t they have a naval base there?”

“That’s right,” said Tony.

“Maybe I’ll see you there sometime,” said Gibbs.  “Our navies must speak to each other sometimes, eh?”

“I hope so,” said Tony.  He held out his hand to Gibbs, “It’s been an experience, Gibbs.”

Gibbs took the hand and shook it, “That’s one way of describing it,” he said.

“Although,” said Tony thoughtfully, “If I’d known you were going to cut me out with my family, I might have taken the train after all!”

Gibbs laughed, “Mrs Pond said something about a jam pudding for lunch …”

                                                                                                   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished at last … thank you to everyone who has taken an interest in the story. The NCIS characters are back in their 21st century box.


End file.
